


Autumn of '04

by LanderAvenue



Series: The Seasons that Changed Us [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Albert is a D-list celebrity with an apparent cowboy fetish, Arthur is a level 41 Sassmaster who doesn’t know why people keep calling him ‘old man’, Bill has a sugar daddy, Bisexual Arthur Morgan, Bonnie has no gaydar, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Complete, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, Javier said 'Squatter's Rights', John - tragically - still has no brain cells, M/M, Mentions of Abigail’s ‘cooking’, Milton has a -6 Charisma modifier, POV Third Person, Period-Typical Homophobia, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:46:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 28
Words: 195,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25098622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LanderAvenue/pseuds/LanderAvenue
Summary: For a time, Arthur had a good, quiet life where he could almost convince himself he was a changed man, that his past wouldn't seep into the present. But then John's son is kidnapped and he's given five names and two months to bring them in, dead or alive.Arthur's name is the last one on the list.1/31/21 - Chapter 28: Entries and Final Thoughts
Relationships: Albert Mason & Mary Linton, Albert Mason/Arthur Morgan, John Marston & Arthur Morgan, Sadie Adler & Arthur Morgan
Series: The Seasons that Changed Us [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1817713
Comments: 419
Kudos: 139





	1. The Mile High City

**Author's Note:**

> Me two weeks ago: "I think I'm gonna take a break from writing, but I'm not gonna revisit this pairing again."  
> Me now: Back on my bullshit, already sitting on three chapters/15k words.
> 
> So I realized I kind of left some loose ends with the last work, and saw an opportunity for a new plot line to resolve that. I'm not expecting this work to run as long as Summer of '99, but don't hold me to that. Updates will be less frequent this time around; I'm not doing two chapters a week again because in retrospect that was insane. But I do have an overall narrative plotted in my head, it's just a matter of taking the time to write it down. I also encourage you to maybe give Summer of '99 a skim again because this work will be referencing that one heavily as we go into new territory. The canon story training wheels will be very wobbly on this work (god, I hope that makes sense).
> 
> This first chapter begins six days after the very last scene of Summer of '99. For anyone who cares, August 12, 1904 (where we left off) was a Friday and the 18th (where we pick up) was a Thursday.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Albert go to Denver. They meet some old friends and some new faces as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _UPDATE- This chapter was updated for minor edits on 11/21/2020_

Like most cities, Denver had far too many people clambering on top of each other in too little space. A confluence of rail lines from all over the country found themselves tangled in this unremarkable stretch of land whose only saving grace was a supposedly breath-taking view of the mountains just to the west. Not that one could see any signs of nature at all from inside the busy train station, unless the scores of people scurrying about in every possible direction counted.

Arthur scowled after the fourth time someone brushed hard into him without so much as a “sorry.” A place like this was bound to have pickpockets, but he didn’t want to risk letting go of the suitcases at his sides in each hand; no doubt they’d be swallowed up and disappear into the blur of bodies.

Albert, predictably, had a wholly different reaction.

“Isn’t this exciting? Being back in a _real_ city?” Starry-eyed, he looked up at the glass-paned ceiling high above them held in place by decorative wrought-iron trusses. The light trickling through them was yellowed with smoke and pollution and who-knows-what else that was floating around in the stuffy and hot interior of the station.

Arthur was more preoccupied with matters closer to the ground, mainly the man that had all but shoulder-checked him and had the audacity to wheel around and snarl at him as if it was _Arthur’s_ fault. At least the people in Saint Denis pretended to have some semblance of ‘southern hospitality.’

“I can think of a few ways to make today more exciting...,” he muttered. Albert didn't so much as glance over his shoulder.

“If you end up in a jail cell, I hope you’re not expecting me to bail you out until after my speech.”

“That’s two days away! You’d really let me waste away in chains that long? On _vacation?”_

 _"Waste away,"_ Albert scoffed, “You know, you should’ve been a playwright; you can manage to turn anything into a tragedy. Now come on, Mary said she’d meet us at the main lobby.”

They braved the chaos of the terminal and eventually broke away into an even larger room, featuring large suspended boards displaying arrivals and departures. Thankfully they were able to navigate through smaller clusters of passengers through this area, but the sheer level of _noise_ between a hundred different conversations happening all around them to the occasional screech of a train whistle to any number of other yells or barks or coughs or squeaks just never ceased. Arthur found it all to be overwhelming, but was thankful for Albert’s quiet guidance, clearly comfortable being back in his true element. A curious reversal of their normal roles.

They saw her standing under a large clock hanging from one of the distant walls of the lobby and made their way over. She was wearing a yellow sundress that looked comfortably appropriate for the summer heat, and carried a matching parasol at her side, which was closed while indoors. She beamed when she caught sight of them and rushed forward to throw her arms around Albert who was closer and not carrying any luggage.

“You made it! Oh, I’m so glad; it’s been so _long."_

“It certainly has,” Albert admitted as he pulled away and they inspected each other. “Ms. Linton, dare I say you are looking absolutely gorgeous.” Mary blushed. Arthur discreetly rolled his eyes. It’d been a while since Albert had had someone to play “high society” with.

“That’s very kind of you, thank you,” she curtsied. “You yourself are looking quite dapper and professional. And might I say ‘scholarly’ with all of these grays in your beard! When did that happen?”

Albert’s smile promptly dropped into a neutral expression. He paused before turning around and pretending to walk away. “Arthur, let’s get back on the train; we’re leaving.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice. Nice seeing ya, Mary,” Arthur replied with a wink and a grin and likewise pretended to start returning back to the platforms. Mary grabbed his wrist and without too much protest managed to pull him into a second hug.

“Oh stop, come here, you.” Arthur returned the embrace for a few seconds before pulling away himself to get a good look at her. They hadn’t met face-to-face for five years at this point. Her own hair had begun to lose its color a bit, but she was hardly old. At least Arthur hoped not, otherwise he didn’t want to think about what that made _him._

“Hello, Mary,” he greeted warmly. “You look well.”

Mary cocked an eyebrow in feigned offense.

“Just ‘well’? I see Albert’s way with words hasn’t rubbed off on you,” she teased.

“If it hasn’t by now, it never will.” Arthur bent back down to take up the suitcases in his hands again. “You ready? I’m itchin’ to get out of this place.”

“Yes, I am.” Calling over Arthur’s shoulder with an entirely-too-formal tone, “Mister Mason, will you be joining us?”

Standing a few feet away, arms crossed and with his back turned to the duo, Albert made a show of huffing before turning around. “I suppose.”

“He’s touchy about the grays,” Arthur murmured to Mary as he passed her towards the main exit, and got an amused hum in response.

Albert integrated himself back into the conversation soon enough and Arthur was willing to relinquish Mary’s attention in favor of scanning their surroundings. As they exited the station to look for a stagecoach to hire it was suddenly obvious that this was a much larger city than Saint Denis. Ages ago the gang was set up somewhere south of here, but Arthur himself never made it into the city proper. He could have never imagined the circumstances that would eventually bring him here.

On the busy street immediately outside the station were dozens of ambitious coach drivers, eager to prey on anyone exiting the building and looking for a ride. Mary secured passage for them with a younger man who seemed less sure of himself than the veteran drivers that bowled over him, but he was offering a more competitive rate at a slower pace on account of his older horses; none of them were in a rush anyway. One of the last things Arthur saw before entering the coach was a billboard advertising the National Symposium on Natural Sciences that they were here for, beginning in two days.

Arthur took a deep inhale inside the safety of the coach, as if he had been holding his breath since stepping off the train. “You go through crowds like that _every day?"_

Mary shook her head, “No, it’s not usually that crowded. This convention that brought you boys into town is making the city feel twice as crowded as normal.”

“Is that so?” To Arthur’s left, Albert was gazing out the window at the throngs of people and horses on the streets. His body language signaled indifference, but there was an undercurrent of nervousness in his voice the other two passengers noticed.

“Makes sense. You got people coming in from all over the country for these talks. It’s gotta be a big deal.” The faintest hint of a smile grew at the corners of Mary’s mouth when she realized what Arthur was doing.

“Oh it certainly is. I wish I could’ve gotten tickets myself, but I waited too long; they stopped the ticket sales once they hit twenty thousand.”

“Twenty… twenty _thousand,_ you said?,” Albert replied with concern, turning his torso back towards the other two. “Surely you mean twenty thousand dollars in profit, not twenty thousand _people."_

“I think she meant people.” Arthur winked discreetly at Mary and when she nodded her head in agreement, Albert paled. “You nervous about something, Al?”

The photographer glanced between them before averting his eyes outside again shaking his head. “You two can be positively devilish when you want to be.”

They shared a laugh at Albert’s expense and were quiet for a bit until Arthur inquired as to where they were going.

“I live in a house just at the edge of the city, it’s not as built-up as it is downtown here. It’s not too far, but it’d be a bit of a walk, especially with your luggage.”

“You’ve been in Denver two years now, haven’t you?,” Albert asked.

“I have. I settled out here after daddy passed on. I just couldn’t bring myself to go back East and be so far away from him.”

“That’s understandable.” Albert looked to his right and saw Arthur wasn’t interested in participating in this conversation at all anymore, but he wasn’t having it. “Isn’t it, Arthur?”

“I guess,” he mumbled.

 _"Can you at least_ pretend _to feel sympathetic?,"_ Albert whispered, as if Mary wasn’t two feet away and couldn’t hear them.

Arthur adjusted himself in his seat and wet his lips in thought before asking, “What’s that saying again? ‘If you ain’t got nothing nice to say…?’” Albert balked and turned to Mary.

“Miss Linton, I apologize, I thought I brought a well-mannered man with me on this journey but apparently I brought nothing more than a feral beast.”

“That doesn’t make him much different from your usual subjects then, does it?”

“Precisely! Why do you think I take so many pictures of him?”

It was Arthur’s turn to be laughed at and scowl out the window, wondering how much longer the ride would take.

* * *

_8/19/04_

_[A two-page sketch of a busy city street with dozens of faceless figures and horses hemmed in by buildings and signs on both sides of the drawing. Caption reads, “Denver, CO”]_

* * *

The following morning Arthur used the previous day’s train ride as an excuse to laze about in bed and make a quick sketch in the new journal he picked up in Blackwater. His old one had finally been filled to the brim with five years of thoughts and words and drawings and could contain no more. Before retiring the book to a secret chest he kept under his side of the bed, Arthur had spent a private afternoon reading through it again. It contained plenty of pain, but there were also good memories he’d forgotten about. Re-reading his early thoughts about Albert were particularly embarrassing; in retrospect he had been falling for the man without even realizing it. It took a conversation with _Bill Williamson_ of all people for him to recognize that.

After christening the new journal with its first entry, Arthur tucked it safely away in his satchel, got dressed, and exited the guest room on the first floor Mary had set them up in. He found her in the kitchen, preparing a cup of tea.

Quickly glancing over her shoulder at the newcomer before returning to the task at hand, Mary began with, “Good morning. I was wondering when you’d get up. I thought you were an early riser?”

“I still am. And I’ve been up, I just wanted to take it easy while I’m on vacation,” he explained as he began searching the cabinets without permission for his own mug. Mary pointed him to the right one without even looking as she poured the boiling water into her own mug.

“Well as my guest you're welcome to do whatever you like while you’re here. I noticed Albert left earlier before I came downstairs.”

“He was goin' to meet up with some colleagues he writes to from some fancy colleges out East. First time meeting them in person.”

“You didn’t want to go with him?,” Mary asked between blowing breaths over her tea. She motioned to sit down at a small table in the breakfast nook and Arthur followed after fixing his own cup.

“Nah, I’d just be gettin' in the way, I’d have nothing to add. I know exactly what’s gonna happen: it’s gonna be a bunch of smart folk in a small room not listenin' to each other, just waitin' for their turn to talk. He don’t need me there for that.”

“Isn’t that what this whole convention is going to be?,” she joked.

He thought about it and raised his eyebrows in concession with a chuckle, “Yeah, I guess so. Just in a really big room I guess.” 

He sat back in the chair across from Mary and scanned the kitchen. It obviously was recently cleaned in anticipation of guests, but it still looked lived in, like it was a home. Hanging on the far wall was a framed picture of Mary with her brother.

“How’s Jaime doing?,” he asked innocently. Mary made a sound and promptly cleared her throat.

“He’s… he’s doing well, as far as I could tell from his last letter. He isn’t able to write often.”

“He hurt his hand or something?” He meant it as an innocuous question, but Mary’s sudden discomfort confused him.

“No. I suppose I should’ve said he’s ‘not allowed’ to write often.”

“Well I know he ain’t under your father’s thumb anymore, so who is it? Got a new, strict wife or something?”

“Nothing like that. In fact, I’m not sure if he’s even allowed to marry...”

“You’re making it sound like he joined a cult or something.” The joke fell flat judging by the serious expression on her face. “Oh…”

She shifted her weight in the chair uncomfortably. “Have you heard of the Chelonians?”

“Yeah. They used to put a guy up on Royal Street in Saint Denis to try and get people to join ‘em. Al and I used to go watch and make fun of him.” Mary frowned.

“Well Jaime got involved with them a while back... _Very_ involved.”

“I, uh… don’t know what to say. Sorry I brought it up, I guess.” An awkward silence fell over the kitchen.

Arthur reached out to grab the handle of the mug with his left hand, and in doing so the gold ring on his finger made a distinctive _clink_ against the ceramic. He thought nothing of it as he brought the drink up to blow on before burning his mouth with a sip, but Mary immediately honed her eyes on his hand.

Eager to change the topic she asked, “What’s that?”

Genuinely confused, “What’s what?”

“That ring. That part of your new fake identity or something?” Arthur looked down at it and smirked.

“Never could get nothin’ past you… Yeah, I guess you could say that, partially.”

“Partially?”

“Well it was a gift, you see.”

“A gift?” Mary narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you sneaking around Albert’s back with a woman? I swear, if you break that man’s heart…”

Arthur set the mug down, leaned back, and held his chin high with a smile he couldn’t fight back as he looked at his old friend. “Mary, who do you think gave it to me?”

He relished in her confusion before it turned into recognition, then surprise. “Truly?”

“Well it ain’t exactly legal, but when has that stopped me before?” She playfully slapped his hand at that, but she was smiling now as well.

“Oh Arthur, that is lovely! I’m so happy for you two. Why didn’t he tell me?”

“He only asked me last week,” Arthur explained with a shrug, briefly thinking of the night out on the plains, under a meteor shower when Albert asked him to spend the rest of their lives together. “I don’t think he had time to write you, and I guess he just forgot to mention it yesterday.”

“He’s certainly getting himself worked up over this speech. But that’s still fantastic news, we have to do something to celebrate!” Arthur batted away at the suggestion.

“Nah, it’s no big deal. It’s not like anything’s changin’ between us. And you know me, I don’t like making a fuss over myself.”

“If you say so. Still… I am happy you finally found someone.” _Even if it wasn’t me_ went left unsaid, but Arthur could see it in her eyes, somehow both happy and sad at the same time.

“Me too,” he smiled back.

* * *

“In conclusion, it is not in spite of man’s progress, but _because_ of man’s progress that we must save these beasts. I hope that Americans in the future will pursue wild animals not with a hunting rifle, but with a camera and a flash bulb. And in doing so, we ensure for future generations that even in Arcadia, there is room for amateurs like me. Thank you.”

Albert stepped away from the podium to bow and was met with thunderous applause from the packed venue. It was a speech he’d given dozens of times before, but never in front of an audience this large. With hands clasped in thanks, he straightened his posture upright and smiled at Arthur, who he’d somehow managed to get a front row ticket for.

Arthur, likewise, grinned right back, clapping and beaming with pride before Albert was shuffled off the stage by the event coordinator. As the man began introducing the next speaker and Albert’s enlarged photographs were removed from the stage by workers, Arthur discreetly got up from his seat and ducked as he walked off to the side of the auditorium space. The symposium was being held in a convention center, really just a single, absurdly large room rather than a proper theater, but it was fully at capacity and Arthur didn’t want to risk blocking some visiting professor’s view and getting an earful if he could avoid it.

Maybe two minutes later he was able to sneak backstage under the guise of being Albert’s assistant (which wasn’t entirely untrue), and saw the photographer speaking in some sort of sectioned-off storage area with a bespectacled man sporting a sharp suit and an unruly mustache. As he approached however, two men appeared seemingly out of nowhere and shoved him back, hard.

“That’s close enough,” one of them warned.

“Just who the hell do you think you are?,” Arthur growled.

“Arthur! Oh, that’s my assistant over there,” Albert announced from some ten feet away. The man he was speaking with nodded and waved him over. Arthur complied, though not before casting a nasty look at the two men who tried to stop him.

“Sorry about that, the boys get a little overprotective sometimes,” the new man explained.

“It’s no problem at all,” Arthur lied. Albert took up the initiative again.

“Again, this is my longtime assistant who’s been helping me take these photographs for about five years now. Arthur, this is-“

“Just ‘Teddy’ is fine,” the man interrupted, putting his hand out. Arthur accepted and shook it, surprised by the strength of his grip and found himself squeezing back just as hard.

“Arthur Mason.”

“Another Mason? You two brothers?”

Albert coughed in surprise.

“Ah, no. Cousins. _Distant_ cousins,” Arthur emphasized. Teddy raised a curious eyebrow only for an instant before leaving it alone.

“Personally I don’t like to involve family in my career, but obviously you two have managed to make it work. Well Mister _Albert_ Mason,” he said, turning back to his original conversation partner, “I was very impressed by your speech. Once I win this upcoming election I’ll be in a stronger position to enact some of your policies through Congress.”

Albert seemed stunned. “Really? I mean the fact that you’re considering it at all is already a win in my book.”

“Congress? What’re you, some kind of senator?” Teddy turned to study Arthur with an amused look on his face. Albert simply opted to drop his jaw to the floor at the question.

“Do you not know who I am?”

Arthur shifted his position, suddenly feeling defensive. “No. Should I?” Then, with a lower close for comedic effect, “Do I owe you money?”

Teddy paused before letting loose a genuine laugh. “Well aren’t you just the very essence of America? Rugged, strong, and dumb as hell. I like you. I bet you don’t leave the house without a gun or two.”

“I didn’t think to bring mine today,” Arthur said, not sure where this conversation was going but certain he didn’t want to get the attention of the two men behind him. Over Teddy’s shoulder he saw Albert rubbing a hand over his face looking mortified.

An event worker poked his head out from behind a curtain and said, “We’ll be ready for you in ten minutes, Mr. President.” “Teddy” simply nodded the man away, and Arthur suddenly felt quite foolish.

“Ready for you how?,” Albert asked.

“Why, I’m the final speaker of the day,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“Really? I didn’t even know you were on the schedule.”

“Neither did the event staff. Hell, neither did I until I decided I wanted to do it a few minutes ago!,” Teddy admitted with a laugh that the other two nervously joined in on. “Still, I liked your ideas, son. I’ll see what I can do about them.”

“Of course! That would be fantastic.”

He nodded his head at Albert, “Mason,” then turned, paused, then did the same to Arthur, _"_ _Mason,"_ before returning to his two bodyguards and seeking out the event staffer that had called out to him a short while ago. They remained in place in silence for a few moments afterwards, absorbing what had just happened.

“...so was that _really?-_ “

“I cannot _believe_ you embarrassed me in front of the _President_ like that,” Albert said while pinching the bridge of his nose.

“How the hell was I supposed to know who he was?!”

“No, you know what? That does it; from now on I’m going to make you start reading the newspaper...”

* * *

Following a celebratory dinner with Mary in Albert’s honor at a fancy restaurant, the trio retired to Mary’s home and she bid the two men goodnight before going upstairs. Despite the late hour, Albert was still up working, frantically scribbling away at the desk in the guest room, copying information from all of the business cards he accrued throughout the day into his journal. Arthur was a few feet away, lying on the bed that was much more comfortable than the one they had at home, marveling at how much cooler the Colorado night air was compared to the daytime.

“You really gotta do that right now?,” Arthur complained. He ran a hand over his tired eyes, wishing Albert would turn off the lamp already.

“You know I can never really turn off my mind. If I’m going to be up for a while, might as well be productive about it.”

“What’s wrong with being up and unproductive?”

“Nothing, I just… I don’t know, I still can’t believe what happened today.”

“Hey, come here. Relax a bit.” Arthur patted on his chest, an implied invitation they’d used on each other hundreds of times before. Albert sighed, but tucked the pencil into the spine of his journal before closing it and approaching the bed. He laid on top of Arthur, resting the side of his head against his chest, legs interlocked as Arthur mindlessly began scratching his back. They held that position for a few moments before Albert spoke up.

“Today may have been the single most important day of my career. I got to speak in front of some of the brightest and most influential people in the country, and I feel like they actually _listened_ to me.”

“You’ve been working hard the past few years. You’ve come a long way and it shows; I thought it was a great speech.”

“You’ve also heard it a hundred times before. I was terrified, and my voice was trembling.”

“Really? I didn’t notice,” Arthur lied. Albert huffed in disbelief, but continued anyway.

“If this concept of national parks takes off, and protects not only forests but swamps and grasslands and deserts as well… It would just be all so _validating._ Like I’ve truly done something meaningful with my life.”

“Glad I was there to see it. So what’s next now that you’ve saved all the man-eating beasts?”

Albert propped his head up at that to shoot Arthur an unimpressed look, but resumed his position soon afterwards. “I’m not sure. I mean certainly I’ll be fighting for conservation the rest of my days, but I wouldn’t mind taking a break from dangerous animals. I’ve had some ideas for other projects in the back of my mind for some time now.”

Arthur likewise was looking forward to avoiding close encounters with bears and wolves for the foreseeable future.

“Like what?”

“Like your life.” Sensing his confusion, Albert adjusted himself so they were lying next to each other, face-to-face. “Well not necessarily _your_ specific life, of course, I mean more the whole western, cowboy aesthetic; the world you come from. It’s a bygone era that’s fading fast, but I’d love to put a series together that really captured that mythos.”

“What’re you thinking? Want me to put on a bandana and rob a bank?”

“No, people will know that’s staged,” Albert dismissed. Arthur chuckled at that, as if the _being staged_ part was what was wrong about that scenario. “I was thinking more like scenes of ranch hands wrangling stallions, old-timey saloons full of interesting characters, dramatic showdowns between gunslingers in the middle of town.”

They certainly were evocative images just by their descriptions alone. A lifetime of such moments flashed by Arthur’s eyes. And with it, a lifetime of violence.

“That life wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Arthur said. His mind briefly wandered to all the faces of friends he’d never see again.

“I know it’s not, but it _was_ a lifestyle that happened, and one that’s fading away, for better or worse. I would like to capture at least some of it before it’s gone forever.”

 _Certainly beats getting eaten alive by wild animals,_ Arthur thought to himself. He gave the concept some genuine consideration for a few moments.

“Well Valentine’s gettin’ pretty built up and last time we went through Strawberry we saw they’ve got electricity in every building now. You’d have to go west for what you’re looking for. Armadillo, Tumbleweed, hell, maybe even further than that.”

“I wouldn’t mind making a trip out that way maybe later this year. It’s been a while since we’ve had an extended trip, just the two of us.”

Gesturing at the guest room they were in, “The hell are we doing right now?”

“Oh, this doesn’t count, this was wholly related to my work.”

“So you didn’t wanna see Mary? You were just using her for a place to stay? I’m gonna tell her you said that.”

“I said no such thing! You horrible man, I can’t stand you.” The smile on his face betrayed his words, however.

“Yeah? Well guess what, you’re stuck with me,” Arthur teased, flashing his wedding band. At that, Albert seemed to soften.

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way... You know today was a success for you as well in a way.”

“How so?”

“Well you’ve been involved in this work just as long as I have. You were right there next to me for every one of those shots I displayed today. I never could’ve made it this far without you.”

Arthur had long since given up contesting that statement, knowing he would never change Albert’s mind, so he merely took the compliment with a quiet hum of acknowledgement.

“And while I may not say this publicly around my peers and colleagues,” Albert continued, “I am damned proud of the fact that the man I now consider to be my husband has stuck around to help get me this far.”

Arthur felt his body freeze. Ever since that night a week ago under the falling stars they had been dancing around titles and language, almost like they were tacitly admitting how taboo their desires were. But this was the first time either of them had said the word, _that_ word, and it suddenly all felt so much more precious.

“Al…,” was all he could manage to get out. Albert smirked victoriously.

“What, no snarky reply at the ready this time?”

“No, just… I love you so goddamn much.” Albert leaned in so that their faces were mere inches apart. He wore an utterly mischievous expression.

“Prove it,” he whispered.

Albert _did_ say he was going to be up for a while anyway.

* * *

Two days, a heartfelt goodbye to Mary, and an open invitation to host her later and the two men were peeling their stiff backs off the uncomfortable train seats to exit onto the Riggs Station platform. As the train pulled away to continue its eventual journey to Saint Denis they looked around to get their bearings. This wasn’t a particularly active station on the rail line and they expected to have to wait a while for a stage coach to hire, but they lucked out when some familiar faces approached.

“Looking for a ride, sirs?,” John questioned in that distinctly raspy voice of his. Arthur all but abandoned the suitcases at his side to approach and embrace his brother.

“That we are. The hell are you doing here?”

“Sadie told us you boys were coming back today. Figured we’d come pick you up,” Abigail explained as she pulled Albert in for a hug.

“Oh you didn’t have to do all this. Though this is certainly saving us some time waiting around for the next coach, thank you.”

“We weren’t doing nothing else today,” John shrugged.

“How was your trip, Uncle Albert?” Jack was getting too big to comfortably pick up, but that didn’t stop Albert from trying.

“It was very productive! I got to meet some old friends and new ones. We even met the president.”

“Really?!,” Jack shouted.

“Really?,” John followed up, unable to hide his own curiosity, which Arthur found amusing. He helped Jack up onto the front bench of the wagon they’d brought to the station as Albert began retelling their encounter, taking a seat just behind them. Abigail helped herself to a spot at the rear of the wagon and Arthur paused before hauling himself up.

“May I sit with you, Mrs. Milton?”

“Why of course, Mr. Mason,” she smiled back at him. She always seemed to enjoy the formality and language of the upper class society she would never be a part of, and occasionally Arthur would humor her and they would pretend to be better people than they were. He climbed in and John spurred the horses into moving. “So tell me all about it; what was it like? I’ve never been to Denver.”

“It’s like Saint Denis, but bigger and meaner. Not as hot though, that’s just about the only improvement.” Abigail rolled her eyes without even trying to be subtle about it.

“You _would_ hate it, I don’t know why I bothered asking. You’re such a mountain man I think you would break out in a rash if you went more than three days without sleeping outside on the dirt.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he chuckled. “Man ain’t meant to be in crowded cities like that.”

“Oh, now you’re starting to sound like Dutch.”

Arthur scrunched up his face and in the best mocking voice he could muster said, “A _man_ who isn’t _free_ is hardly a man _at all."_ The confused look on Abigail’s face suddenly made him feel very embarrassed however.

“Was that… were you tryin’ to impersonate him? ...Arthur, that was _really_ bad,” she said while unsuccessfully trying to maintain a straight face. He dipped his face under the brim of his hat in shame.

“This is why I always let Hosea do all the acting.” Abigail finally laughed openly at that.

“He certainly had a talent, that one. God, what would they think of us now, living normal, honest lives?”

“Dutch would make fun of me for living in a hut out in the woods like some kind of recluse. And he’d make fun of John for doing his own physical labor. Hosea though, pretty sure this is what he always wanted for us. To get out and live peacefully for once.”

“I think you’re right,” Abigail agreed. For effect she leaned back and looked up at the clear sky. “I can just see ‘em looking down at us right now, Hosea smilin’ at us and Dutch shaking his head.

“Hah! You think they’re looking down at us? I think they’re looking _up."_ Abigail gasped, but was smiling as he slapped Arthur’s knee.

“Don’t say that!,” she whispered, as if they could hear her not only from beyond the grave but over Arthur’s laughing as well.

* * *

The rest of the ride evolved into one larger conversation between everyone, talking about all the strange characters they saw in Denver, how Abigail was going to try and get Jack enrolled in Blackwater’s public school soon, and updates from letters from the other gang members they were still in contact with. John brought the wagon up onto their property in Tall Trees in the early evening, with barely half an hour of sunlight left. Sadie exited their house with a carbine repeater primed and readied, but soon swung it over her shoulder when she recognized the party.

“Who goes there?,” she demanded in a voice of faux-authority as Lily came running out of the door behind her, tail wagging and jumping up to lick the first person she could get to.

“Just a bunch of no-good outlaws with huge bounties on their heads,” John joked as he helped Jack down from the front bench.

“Well good thing there are no bounty hunters round these parts,” she shot back before another round of hugs began.

The men got their luggage into the house and Albert invited the Marstons inside to rest before they left again. Arthur managed to catch Sadie out on the front porch alone, leaning on a post and looking out towards the front of the property.

“Mary said hi. Said you were always welcome to visit.” She turned her head to acknowledge his presence, but soon resumed looking ahead.

Sounding like she was genuinely considering it, “That’s sweet of her. Maybe I’ll head out that way one day if I’m bored enough.”

“Sure. And thanks again for watching the place while we were gone.”

“No problem at all. You’re not about to try and pay me, are you? I already told Al to keep his cash.”

“No, I know better by now,” Arthur huffed. He took up his own spot, leaning against another post and looking in the same direction as Sadie, but nothing specific caught his attention. “Have any trouble?”

“No, it was quiet here. Real quiet.” A long pause. “That made it hard.”

“You don’t like quiet?,” he asked carefully. He considered Sadie a close friend, but she opened up about her true thoughts and feelings about as often as a solar eclipse.

“Not that so much as… being in a house like this, it reminded me of my old life. Of Jake. Kept expecting to turn around and see him.” Before Arthur could think of something to say to that she pushed off from her post and stretched out her back. “You don’t gotta say nothing. It was still a nice break from things. Lily was real sweet and I got to play my harmonica a ton.”

“You still have never played for me,” Arthur pointed out.

“I will. Once you show me what’s in that journal you were always scribblin’ in.”

“Oh. So never, then.”

“Guess not,” she shrugged. She sauntered over to her horse, Hera, and began brushing her.

“You heading out so soon? You don’t gotta leave just ‘cus we’re back.”

“Yeah, figured I’d ride back with the Marstons and spend the night at Beecher’s, leave you two lovebirds alone to catch up.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Remember that month last year I spent with you boys after dealing with Colm?” Arthur nodded. “Well let’s just say this house has thinner walls than I think you both realize. Found that out the hard way.”

If his hat were large enough, Arthur would’ve scurried up inside it to hide his blush. Sadie laughed and delighted in his reaction.

* * *

_8/25/04_

_[Sketch of Lilly splayed out on living room floor, asleep.]_

* * *

From his spot on the couch, Arthur heard the bedroom door open behind him and Albert step out from it. He twisted around from his seat to see the other man wearing his fishing vest, adorned with various hooks and lures, looking ridiculous. He carried a newspaper in one hand and a fishing rod in the other.

“Do you actually use all of those?” Albert looked down to see what he was talking about.

“Of course! This one is for rivers, this one is for lakes, and these two are supposed to be for larger fish but I haven’t had much luck with them,” he explained while pointing out specific lures.

“How much money you spending on all those fancy lures?”

“None of your business, that’s how much. Besides, I think it’s important to have hobbies.”

“I always got by fine with just bread and worms,” Arthur grumbled while turning back forward to the journal in his lap.

“That so? Do you want to join me? We can make a competition of it.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t mind just relaxing today.”

“Suit yourself. _Coward.”_ Albert whispered the last word right before leaning down to kiss Arthur on the forehead. “Lilly! You wanna go fishing, girl?”

As if a switch was flipped, the dog was roused from deep sleep and immediately jumped up and ran to the door in excitement.

_Guess that’s the end of the sketch._

“Doesn’t she scare all the fish away?,” Arthur asked as he folded his journal closed.

“At first, but once she burns off her energy she’s fine. She’s really there to make sure no one sneaks up on me, you know I don’t pay much attention. We’re just going down to my regular spot on the river.”

“Sure. I’ll be here,” he said as he got up off the couch. Albert had a usual spot on the Lower Montana where they also occasionally did laundry when it was warmer. It was within walking distance, so he wouldn’t be going by horse. “You got your gun?” Albert lazily patted at the pistol holstered at his side. Satisfied he wasn’t letting him leave the house unprotected, Arthur waved them off.

He exited the house a little afterwards and walked over to the small stable built on the side of the structure. In it he found his horse, Ivy, and Albert’s, Penny. He spent about two hours feeding and brushing them and giving a deep, proper and overdue cleaning to their saddles. He was about to try taking them both out for a quick ride, just to stretch their legs when he heard hooves from another horse approach the front of the house.

Curious, he closed the stable gate behind him and walked back around to find John pounding on the front door.

“Arthur! Arthur are you home?!”

“John, over here. What’s wrong?” John snapped his head to the left at Arthur’s voice and began walking over. He wore an expression of panic on his face to match the tone of his voice.

“I got a big problem. I need your help.”

“Slow down, what’s wrong?”

“Jack’s been kidnapped.”

And with that, an old, unwelcome but familiar sense of dread sunk its teeth into Arthur for the first time in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUUUUNNN Oh you didn't think this was going to be all fluff, did you? We got a plot to dive into!
> 
> So I wanted to show that Albert had been making progress in his career, and realizing that Theodore Roosevelt was president in 1904 and a year later formalized the United States Forest Service, I couldn't not work that in as part of Albert's influence. Also thought it would be fun to run through a bunch of cameos to show how tight-knit their friendships had become even after the gang had split up.
> 
> But things are about to head south, as you can imagine.


	2. Five Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John pays a visit. He has some bad news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Says I'm not gonna post two chapters a week  
> *Does it anyway
> 
> I'm just too excited to get this show on the road.
> 
> _UPDATE- This chapter was updated for minor edits on 11/21/2020_

John began pacing.

“Alright, calm down. What happened?,” Arthur asked.

“I… I don’t know, I wasn’t there!”

“What _do_ you know?”

John abruptly stopped pacing to turn and shout in Arthur’s face. “They have my _son,_ Arthur!”

He knew John’s anger wasn’t directed at him, but it still took effort to not snap back at him. Instead, he forced himself to calmly ask, “Who does?”

“Pinkertons. They came to the house.”

“How do you know they were Pinkertons?”

“It was _him._ The one who killed Hosea.”

Arthur’s blood chilled. Then it threatened to boil over.

In a low, deliberate voice, “Pinkertons came to your house. And then you immediately came _here?”_ A look of recognition flashed in John’s eyes for just an instant before he pivoted to the defensive.

“I didn’t know what to do!”

“Obviously!” He deliberately checked John with his shoulder as he brushed past. “Come on, mount up, we’re leavin'.”

“Where are we going?”

“Anywhere but here!,” he shouted over his shoulder as he locked the front door. Then quietly, to himself as he returned to Ivy, _"_ _Dumbass…"_

* * *

A short ride later in a random direction they dismounted in a small clearing away from any roads, but still in a forested area. Arthur wasn’t sure exactly where they were on account of being too upset at John for potentially leading Pinkertons to his home to pay attention to where they were going.

“You calmed down now? You gonna tell me what happened?”

“No, but I can try,” John snarled as he took a seat on a nearby downed log. His eyes darted around the forest floor as he tried to think of where to begin. “Abigail took Jack into Blackwater for some errands, but I think she was also gonna try and get him into the school there.”

“She do it under ‘Marston’ or ‘Milton’?”

John shook his head. “She didn’t even get that far. Said four men approached her, right in the middle of town. Two of them took Jack away and the other two came back to Beecher’s with her. One of them was _him,_ and he recognized me too.”

Arthur tried wracking his memory. He could see the man’s face, he’d never forget that, but he couldn’t place the name. It had been five years since he’d even thought about the man.

Sensing his confusion, John offered, “His name is Andrew Milton.”

It all came back immediately after that. That blood-soaked day on the streets of Saint Denis. Hiding in the dark while eavesdropping on Micah and Milton relishing their victory. The night Dutch died. These were memories Arthur hadn’t looked back on in a long time; he never thought they’d be relevant again.

“Milton… Is that why you picked that name? Thought it’d be funny?”

Sounding defensive, “No, I just knew I’d heard it somewhere before and thought it sounded close enough to ‘Marston.’” Arthur was unconvinced, but that was irrelevant.

“Uh huh. So what did he say?”

“Said he wanted my help. Gave me five names and said I couldn’t get Jack back until I brought them in for him, dead or alive. He’s giving me two months from today.” Arthur scowled.

“How is that legal?”

“It ain’t, but what can I do about it? You know what would happen to me if I set foot in a courthouse. Abigail is hysterical; after they left I left her with Uncle and didn’t know what to do so I came to you.”

He couldn’t even begin to imagine what Abigail was going through at the moment. “What happens at the end of two months?”

“They’re gonna arrest me. But if I ‘comply’ and bring him these names, they’ll leave me alone.” They both thought that was a lie.

Arthur sighed. This was a goddamn mess. “Who were the five names?”

John stuck out his thumb as he began counting, “Charles Smith…”

After the gang had disbanded, Charles had been living a mostly clean life. He spent a lot of time alone, but when he wasn’t helping the tribe up at the Wapiti Reservation, he usually spent a week or two at either John’s or Arthur’s homes, usually unannounced. He was transient like that, intentionally living a life that made him difficult to find. Five years ago he was present at both the Saint Denis bank robbery and the aborted train robbery a few days later, so Milton likely remembered his face.

“Alright, we can warn him. Next?”

Extending his index finger, “Bill Williamson…” Arthur shook his head.

“No way. Bill’s gotta be dead by now.”

John raised his brows in concession and rubbed his chin with his free hand. “I wasn’t there to see him that last night. You said he was looking pretty rough though, right?”

Nodding, “Yeah, it was bad. He was thin as a rail and coughing up blood. Apparently he and Javier went west, but no one ever heard from either of 'em after that.”

John put out his middle finger, “Well there’s our third, Javier Escuella.”

Arthur rubbed a hand over his own chin, mimicking John. “Now _Javier_ might actually be alive. Don’t know how the hell we’d find him though... Maybe that’s a good thing; if we can’t, maybe the Pinkertons can’t neither. Who’s the fourth?”

Ring finger out, “Micah Bell.”

They both paused.

“Micah’s dead though. Hell, _you’re_ the one who killed him,” Arthur reminded.

“That’s what I told him! He didn’t believe me though, said I was covering up for him. I didn’t point out why that didn’t make any sense.”

Arthur leaned his back against a tree, dug his thumbs through his belt loops and crossed one ankle over the other. “Well the sorry bastard’s probably still face-down in that building, unless someone went and buried him for some reason.”

“Who the hell would do that?”

“An idiot, that’s who.” They both chuckled over that. “Who’s the last name?”

The brief smile on John’s face gave way to a grave expression. He fanned out the last finger and gestured loosely at Arthur, some ten feet away, but said nothing. He didn’t need to.

They locked eyes over the distance. Arthur made a conscious effort to slow his breathing and focus carefully on John’s next movements. It was dawning on him that they were alone in the woods and no one else knew they were out here. And John was clearly desperate to get his son back, but Arthur wasn’t willing to test the limits of how far that desperation would go.

He slowly shifted his right hand from the belt loop to rest on his holstered pistol. John’s eyes followed and widened. He raised his hands in surrender.

“Arthur… that’s not why I came here! I wouldn’t do that to you, you’re my _brother!"_

Arthur suddenly felt very ashamed of himself. He recoiled his hand from the gun’s grip, as if it had scolded him.

“I…” Words failed him.

Sounding frantic, “I didn’t come here to bring you in, I need your _help._ I can’t do this alone!”

He straightened up against the tree and folded his arms across his chest, no longer trusting his hands. “Sorry. Look, I know you’re upset, but we’ll figure somethin' out, alright? We’ll get Jack back.” John’s expression turned from pleading to anger again.

“You don’t know that. What if we can’t? Now Abigail’s not safe either; they know where I live!”

“Lower your goddamn voice,” Arthur growled. He couldn’t rule out the possibility that they were being watched, even out here. John was having none of it however and stood up to shout in his face.

“Or else what? How could this get any worse? Even if I do what he wants, how do I know he won’t just arrest me afterwards anyway?”

With growing frustration, “I understand you’re upset-“

“You don’t understand _shit!_ You have _no idea_ what I’m going through. You don’t know what it’s like to lose a son! You don’t know what it’s like to-“

The moment of clarity that possessed John was enough to stop the words from leaving his mouth as he remembered who he was talking to. But the fist was already on its way to his face.

Arthur clocked him, hard, and sent John reeling backwards. He landed on the fallen log he was sitting on a few seconds earlier, and used it to spring forward, driving his shoulder into Arthur’s midsection. They both fell to the ground and John scrambled into position on top of him as they instantly began trading blows, neither of them even attempting to block any incoming strikes, too consumed with fury. It wasn’t until they heard the sound of a barking dog and a gunshot fired in the air that they halted.

“Stop it! What are you doing?! John, get _off_ of him, now!”

They both looked up to see Albert at the top of a small nearby crest with his gun pointed towards the sky, looking more angry than concerned. Lilly was nearby and excited, likely thinking the two men were just playing on the ground rather than beating each other senseless.

“What is _wrong_ with you two? I swear, you are like children,” Albert continued. He holstered his pistol and approached as Arthur shoved John away and they both dragged themselves to their feet.

“Just having a talk,” Arthur tried, noticing a new pain in his jaw when he tried to speak.

“About what, who gives the better black eyes?,” he spat. Albert stepped forward to inspect Arthur’s face. Whatever he saw, he clearly didn’t like it.

“He started it!,” John cried. 

_God, we really are like kids._

Albert turned to face John and pointed a finger threateningly at him, “I don’t care who started it, _I’m_ ending it. And I’m not letting you put another hand on my husband.” John’s residual anger all but evaporated at that.

“Husband? Are you two…?” Albert sighed and ran a hand over his eyes.

Arthur however couldn’t help but grin at the absurdity of John finding out like this. He casually showed off the ring among his bruised knuckles. “Forgot to mention it.”

John smiled. “I _thought_ I felt you wearing a ring. That’s… congratulations!”

Albert was confused by the sudden change in the conversation's mood, but welcomed it all the same. “It’s a recent development, but thank you.” He awkwardly received a hug from his now de facto brother-in-law and watched cautiously as he embraced Arthur afterwards.

“It ain’t official, so don’t go blabbering about this to no one,” Arthur warned half-jokingly as they parted.

“Of course not. Can I tell Abigail though?”

“Of course you can. Arthur, come back to the house to get yourself cleaned up, please.” After a moment’s pause, “John, you’re welcome to join us if you can behave yourself.”

He looked to Arthur, who gave a subtle nod. “Sure. Why, do I got something on _my_ face?”

“John, do you not feel your nose bleeding?,” Albert asked. John ran a hand under his nostrils and inspected it when he pulled away.

“Huh.”

“You two…” Albert went back to the hill crest, shaking his head the whole way, to fetch his fishing rod and the two decent-sized trout that he caught and wrapped in the newspaper. Arthur took this time to shoot John a silent glare that warned, _don’t say anything._ When he came back down the hill, Albert rode on the back of Ivy with Arthur while Lilly followed behind, and they all returned to the house a short while later.

* * *

After getting the two outlaws cleaned up and as presentable as they could be, both sporting fresh black eyes and split lips, Albert gave them both wet cloths on the front porch.

“I have to begin preparing these fish before they start to spoil; can I trust you two to not kill each other while I head inside?,” he asked.

“Yeah, I think so. I’m probably gonna head out soon anyway,” John said. “Congrats again though.”

Albert looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but refrained from doing so, “Thank you, John. Tell everyone I said hello.” He entered the house and missed the small wince that escaped John.

They waited in silence for a minute or two, dabbing dried blood off their faces.

“I’m sorry. About what I said,” John whispered.

Arthur also kept his voice low, “It’s alright.”

“It’s really not. I know it was a long time ago, but I still shouldn’t’ve said it.”

“It’s fine. You’re upset, and I get that. I’m just glad you didn’t say nothing to Al.”

John pinched his eyebrows together and looked at Arthur sitting to his right. “Why? Does he not know?”

Arthur shook his head, but said nothing. John looked understandably surprised.

“You _never_ told him about Eliza and Isaac? You’ve been together, what… five years? And it never came up?”

“I don’t like to talk about them,” Arthur whispered with an audible edge in his voice, a not-so-subtle warning.

“Sorry,” he yielded.

They were quiet for a stretch afterwards. The only noise came from Lilly who was desperately and unsuccessfully trying to get Old Boy to play with her.

“What am I gonna do?,” John asked. Arthur has been mulling over that question himself.

“They’re probably watching your place, so they’ll know if you’re not cooperating. I think you should leave home for a bit.”

“And do what?”

“Head north. Try and find Charles and give him a heads up. Maybe he can help us figure something out in the meantime.”

“What about you?”

“I reckon I should leave too. You and I are the only ones who really settled down with permanent addresses; if they found _you,_ they might be on my doorstep any day now.” John shook his head in defeat.

“I still don’t know how they found me.”

“We’ll figure that out too.”

He could almost _see_ John fight back a, _you don’t know that._ Instead, the younger man went with, “What about Albert?”

This was the biggest complication for Arthur. He turned to make sure that the front door was closed, that Albert couldn’t hear them. “I don’t wanna worry him. Maybe I’ll make something up and slip away from the house for a while.”

“That makes no sense; what if the Pinkertons find out where you live and come get him while you’re not here?”

He could see it easily enough: Agent Milton introducing himself as an old friend of Arthur’s, Albert being entirely too trusting and letting him in the house, only to get knocked out and whisked away to wherever Jack was taken away to. Maybe Milton wouldn’t even be that savvy, maybe he’d just show up with an army of Pinkertons and burn the place down, shooting whoever comes running out.

“No, you’re right. I’ll bring him with me.”

“So you’re gonna tell him what’s happening?”

Arthur truly didn’t want to; he didn’t want to worry Albert that the life they’d built together was about to come to a screeching halt. He also was too embarrassed to admit that his past, no matter how much distance he put between it and himself, would always be coming back to bite him for the rest of his life like this.

“You let me worry about my family and focus on your own, alright?”

John clearly didn’t like that. “That’s bullshit, you’re my family too. The both of you.”

“Let it go, Marston,” Arthur scolded. They were both grown men at this point, but he still pulled the older brother act from time to time. Judging by John’s uncomfortable silence, it was working, or at the very least John was just tired of fighting. He stood up from the bench.

“Fine. I’ll go north and look for Charles. Where are you two going?”

“Guess we’ll go west. I’ll try and see what I can find out about Javier. If I find him, maybe he can help us find Jack too.”

“Where should I look to find you? I mean where should we meet up? Not here or my place obviously.”

Arthur lifted himself up from his seat and called Lilly over to stop antagonizing the horse while he thought about it.

“Meet us in Thieves’ Landing in two weeks. Doubt any Pinkertons could step foot in that place without getting shot to shit, but it should be safe for us.” It was as good a plan as any.

“Alright. I’m gonna head back and tell Abigail. Probably head north tomorrow morning.” They both lingered there on the porch uncomfortably before John continued, “Look, if I don’t see you again-”

“No. Don’t you start with that-”

“I could be going to jail, Arthur. For real this time!”

“If that happens, I’ll break you out myself.” An emotional huff escaped John at that.

“I just… I’m sorry about what I said, and I’m real happy for you. I want you to know that.”

“Thank you.” His mouth hung open in anticipation of more words, but they did not come. Not because he didn’t have anything else to say, but rather because he didn’t know how to say them. Instead he merely clenched his jaw, ignored the pain that resulted and waved John off before heading back inside.

* * *

Arthur entered the house to find Albert standing over the kitchen table, sleeves rolled up and arms filthy as he was halfway through gutting and cleaning the second trout. They locked eyes before Albert refocused on his work.

“So do I wanna know what that was about?”

Arthur closed the door behind him after beckoning Lilly back inside. “Just some old drama from a long time ago coming back up. We talked it out.”

“You know my brothers and I used to fight all the time too. Though the fisticuffs stopped after we were teenagers.”

“John and I never really grew out of it I guess.” He strode over to inspect Albert’s work, suddenly recognizing how hungry he was.

“Apparently not. This still wasn’t as bad as that first Christmas we spent at their place though; I honestly thought one of you was going to kill the other.”

“If Charles weren’t there to stop it, I might’ve,” Arthur mused, recalling the memory.

“It was just a stupid prank, Arthur.”

“And it wasn’t funny.” He shot a look at Albert, daring him to challenge it. Albert just kept his eyes on his hands, but did smirk a bit.

“No comment.”

Arthur huffed, but didn’t want to get himself riled up over something that happened three years ago, so he found himself trudging over to the couch. He tried to read the old newspaper that was resting on it, but could not focus, head swimming with thoughts about what was going to happen, how he was going to find Javier. Most importantly, where Jack was at that very moment, if he was okay. He soon folded the newspaper into his lap and turned to Albert.

“Hey, why don’t we go on a trip?” Albert looked up quizzically from where he was working.

“A trip? We just got back from a trip a few days ago.”

“I know, but you said that was all business. I mean something just for fun, for the two of us.”

Albert began sliding the discarded parts and guts into a waste bin. “What were you thinking?”

“Thinking we go out west. For that new project you were talking about. We could go to Armadillo.” Albert’s eyebrows shot up.

“Really? I know you always warned against going to New Austin in the summer though, you don’t wanna wait a few weeks for it to cool down first?”

 _We don’t have a few weeks._ “I don’t think the _old_ Albert Mason could’ve handled it. But you’ve got some survival chops now, I think we can manage.”

“I’m still the same person, I’ve hardly changed all that much,” he dismissed.

“Al, what are you doing _right now?_ ” The other man looked down at the mess on the table, and seemed to know where this was going. “You’re guttin’ fish that _you_ caught on your own. I wasn’t even there. And you broke up a fight with _your_ gun. You think your old self from five years ago would recognize you today?”

A smile broke through his humble demeanor, “No, I suppose not.”

“We’ll be fine. And it’ll be fun.”

Albert began washing his hands and forearms in a clean water basin behind him. “I don’t doubt it. And I would like to get back to photography. I guess I’m just confused as to the timing. Does this have something to do with you and John today?”

It had everything to do with that.

“Kinda… Wouldn’t mind taking a break from him to cool off. Or maybe I just got an overdose of civilization with that last trip and I wanna sleep under the stars with a special someone for a few nights.”

“Someone special, hmm?” He dried his hands with the last clean towel, “Wonder who that could be.”

“Oh he’s a wiseass, but I’m still sweet on him.”

“I can relate to that…”

* * *

After some additional convincing and assurances that the trip would be worthwhile, all while being careful not to come off as desperate or suspicious, Arthur successfully got Albert to agree to the trip. Arthur had a friend, Lee, who was one of the regular hunters up the road at Manzanita Post; in the morning he’d leave Lilly there with him and ask Lee to swing by and check on the house from time to time. After dinner, Albert went into the basement to pull together some of his photography equipment and decide which of the multiple cameras he had accrued over the years he would bring with him. Arthur had a more somber task before him.

Tucked away under their shared armoire was a wooden case that Arthur found himself kneeling in front of and opening for the first time in several months. In it were relics of his past life that he took out from time to time, but hadn’t used for their intended purpose for years.

First he picked up the sawn-off shotgun. He removed it from the off-hand holster it had been resting in and inspected it. Still in good condition, and he could still comfortably hold it at arm's length with one hand. It was more of a close quarters, in-your-face kind of weapon that he had frequently been forced to hip fire. He recalled the incident with the mother bear that had pinned him down during his first extended trip with Albert, how he’d used this very weapon to scare off that monster.

His shoulder still ached occasionally, no matter how many tender kisses Albert had placed on it.

Next he removed the double-barrelled shotgun. It was in need of a cleaning, but he still had some gun oil that would do the trick. When he was handling it and inspecting it, he looked down the sights. For just a moment, he could see John’s head at the end of it, pressed against the back of the train car, looking at him from behind his bandana with rage and confusion. Arthur quickly lowered the gun and forced the memory away. It was a long time ago, and they all had grown past it; there was no sense dwelling on those harder days towards the end of the gang’s life.

Finally he turned his attention to the Lancaster Repeater, easily the deadliest tool out of the group. More men had been felled by this gun at Arthur’s hand than he could remember. He was ashamed of that fact. It felt unnervingly comfortable and familiar in his hands, far more than the varmint rifle he used for hunting ever would. Holding it by the frame reminded him of passing this very gun to Charles, in the back of a prisoner wagon to shoot at Pinkertons that were following them as Dutch bled out on the floor behind him. He hated all the stories surrounding these weapons.

“Were you thinking of bringing all of those?”

Arthur startled and snapped his head to the left, seeing Albert standing in the doorway with his photography bag at his side.

“Jesus, Al! Don’t sneak up on a man while he’s holding a gun!” It came out harsher than he intended and he instantly regretted it.

“I thought you heard me come up the stairs,” Albert winced. Arthur sighed, now more upset at himself than at Albert.

“I didn't. But yeah, I was. Just to be safe, you know?”

Albert put the bag down next to the door frame and closed it behind him. “Are you really expecting that kind of trouble? I mean that age of outlaws is basically over, that’s the whole point of this new project.”

“There’s always gonna be crooks looking to rob you out on the road though, no amount of civilization will stop that.”

“I suppose not,” Albert admitted as he went over and sat at the edge of the bed, looking down at everything Arthur had spread out across the floor. “If nothing else I can make you do a few poses with them, looking like the walking arsenal you were when we first met.”

“Won’t people think it’s _staged?_ ”

“The people will get what I give them,” Albert stated matter-of-factly.

“So long as you’re not giving ‘em pictures with my face in them,” he grunted as he picked himself up off the floor. He carefully placed the guns on the sole chair in the room, next to the armoire.

“Worst case scenario I can just claim you’re an ‘unknown outdoorsman’ again.”

“I’m still mad you did that without warning me first.”

“I know you are,” Albert said without a hint of remorse. 

Arthur sat next to him at the edge of the bed. It was late and they’d have to get to sleep soon if they wanted to get on the road early tomorrow. Still, they took the moment to lean into each other, tilted heads gently bumping together. Arthur was about to suggest they turn in for the evening when Albert spoke first.

“You know you can tell me anything, right, Arthur?”

A pang of guilt twisted in his stomach.

“I know.”

In the silence that followed, Albert likely realized that nothing more was forthcoming. He merely squeezed Arthur’s thigh with the hand that was resting on it before they peeled away from each other and settled in to sleep. Neither of them said anything else of substance for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we have the two biggest unresolved things from Summer of '99 coming up: The fact that Agent Milton is still alive and the matter of Arthur's history with Eliza and Isaac never coming up. This might seem like a similar setup to the beginning of RDR1, and that's intentional, but obviously there are some big differences. Mainly that Dutch is dead, Arthur isn't, and Milton seems to think Micah is still alive for some reason. Also Charles is getting wrapped up in things now because he's still in the picture, what with this all happening seven years earlier than they do in the RDR1 canon.
> 
> Also Lee isn't an OC, he's just a super obscure NPC who literally only shows up for one story mission in the Red Dead Online campaign: https://reddead.fandom.com/wiki/Lee


	3. The Bandit, The Rancher, The Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Albert run into some trouble their first night out of the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, I wrote Summer of '99 in a document called "2am", so obviously I'm writing this one in a document called "2a2m" and it just tickles me every time I see that.
> 
> Also I finished mapping out my overall narrative and I'm expecting this work to be about as long as Summer of '99 (maybe a touch longer?), so buckle up.
> 
> _UPDATE- This chapter was updated for minor edits on 11/21/2020_

_8/26/04_

_John came over yesterday and dropped a bombshell on me. Said Pinkertons had kidnapped Jack and he only had two months to round up the rest of the boys from the gang that are still alive. After talking it out like gentlemen, he agreed to go north to find Charles, and I would go west to find Javier._

_I hate to drag Albert into this mess. I foolishly thought I had put that life behind me. Hopefully we can find a way to fix this without him finding out. I do not want him to think of me as the bad man I clearly still am._

* * *

They made horrible progress on the first day.

Between leaving the house late, spending too much time saying goodbye to Lily, stopping to catch more fish for dinner on the Lower Montana and just in general taking their time, the two men had only made it as far as just west of Stillwater Creek before deciding to stop for the night. Arthur begrudgingly got a fire started once he picked a spot not far from the road. It was still warm enough in the year that they wouldn’t need to set up a full tent for the night.

As if he could read Arthur’s mind, Albert said with a touch of humor in his voice, “We certainly didn’t get too far from the house today, did we?”

“No, we did not. It’s fine though, just nice to be outta the house, right?” That was his primary concern after all; not being around in case the Pinkertons found out where he lived the same way they had somehow tracked down John and Abigail.

“It is. I am excited to get back to doing field work though. Honestly that convention reminded me of how so many people can spend their whole lives in cities, just jumping from one town to the next and skipping all the beautiful parts in between. And to think, I used to be one of them!”

“Now look at you. Roughin’ it outdoors and looking for gunslingers to shoot,” Arthur chuckled.

Albert corrected, “Shoot with a _camera,_ yes. And _somebody_ has to do it.”

Arthur wasn’t so sure about that last part, but he wasn’t going to contest the matter.

He took this time to jot some quick thoughts down in this journal, but after receiving some thinly-veiled complaints he agreed to help Albert clean and prepare the fish. They cooked them over the fire with some light seasoning Albert had brought.

“Just because we’re sleeping rough doesn’t mean we have to eat rough,” he explained.

“I’m not complainin'. Shit, I’ve forced down some bad meals in my time, but none of them were your doing.”

“I force myself to eat bad meals as well. Every time we go over to the Marstons’.” An involuntary laugh escaped Arthur before he could catch it.

“Now that ain’t nice…”

Albert continued, “Do you remember when we were building Beecher’s Hope? At the end of each day we’d leave John, Charles and Uncle behind and come back to our house. We’d spend some time playing with Jack before Abigail would serve us dinner as thanks.”

“I do.”

Albert paused, staring into the fire before looking at Arthur directly.

“...those were, _consistently,_ the worst meals of my life.”

“Look, Abigail may not be the best cook-“

“Do you remember those fish sandwiches she made us? They had more scales and bone than bread.”

“They just had a crunchy texture is all,” Arthur shrugged.

“That stew that she oversalted? It tasted like seawater, and the chicken floating around in it was still raw.”

“Well everyone’s got a personal preference for stew-“

“Arthur. She _burned_ a _salad._ ” Words failed him for a moment as he recalled that particularly heinous dish they all suffered through with fake smiles.

“Yeah, I don’t rightly know how she managed that one,” he conceded with a chuckle.

“Think about it, we only go over there once every other weekend, and I endure it because I enjoy the company. But John, Jack and Uncle? They deal with that _every night.”_

 _“Alright,_ you made your point,” Arthur groaned. He didn’t find himself disagreeing with Albert, but it didn’t sit well to be talking about his friend behind her back when she wasn’t there to defend herself. Albert recognized he was being too hard and attempted to backtrack.

“Don’t get me wrong, I consider Abigail a dear friend that I’ve grown close to. But the woman cannot cook a decent meal to save her life. In fact, the general store in Armadillo likely has a book section, don’t you think? I was thinking of maybe buying her a cookbook, as a gift.”

“Abigail can’t read,” Arthur pointed out. “You’d just be addin' insult to injury.”

“Jack is starting to learn, isn’t he? Maybe he could read the recipes out to her. That’d be a nice mother-son bonding experience and we’d all be getting better food out of it. It’s win-win!”

Albert took this opportunity to dig into his skewered fish for a few large bites. He didn’t notice the brief, dour look that fell on Arthur’s face at the mention of Jack. Let alone whatever state Abigail was in at that exact moment.

He didn’t dwell on the matter long however. His ears perked up at the sound of horse hooves in the distance. The sun had set less than an hour ago so it wasn’t unreasonably late for people to be out riding, but he was always hyper-attentive when out traveling like this. Albert soon picked up on it as well, and they both swiveled their heads at the approaching strangers.

“Keep calm, maybe they’ll just pass us by,” Arthur hushed. It soon became evident that wouldn’t be the case however as three men on horseback deliberately peeled off of the nearby road to get closer.

“Well, what do we have here, boys?”

_Knew we shouldn’t’ve set up so close to the road._

“Just some travelers restin' for the evening,” Arthur supplied before the newcomers could begin to banter among each other. The one who spoke first leveled a mean look at him.

“Weren’t talkin’ to you, old man.”

 _"Old man?"_ Albert cast him a pleading look that he didn’t notice.

“Yeah, _old man._ You look old enough to be my daddy.” The kid _was_ young, all three of them were, and he was probably right, much to Arthur’s chagrin.

“Sure. Well if this is your land, we’re just stayin' the night, we’ll be gone in the morning.”

“It don’t matter to us, stay as long as you like. No, we just want your money.”

The three strangers smoothly pulled out their revolvers. The two in the back each aimed at Arthur and Albert, still sitting on the ground next to the fire, but their de facto leader who had been doing all the talking just lazily leaned forward in his saddle, gun resting easily at his side.

“That won’t be a problem, will it?” At Arthur's side, Albert paled but still said nothing. Arthur had to be strong for him. This was a bad situation though.

“No problem at all, though we don’t have much,” Arthur began. The leader loosely gestured at the whole camp setup.

“You got two horses and some fancy guns. A lot of guns, in fact. Not doing you too much good right now, are they though?” His two buddies chuckled at that. “I want that repeater.”

Arthur stood up and immediately had three guns pointed on him. He raised his hands and froze, but this was what he secretly wanted; the fewer guns pointed at Albert, the better. Slowly, he removed the repeater from over his shoulder and held it extended out in front of him in his left hand, gripping it by the frame so the barrel wasn’t pointed at anyone. He gestured to the leader to come and get it. Confident that they were in control of the situation, the young man grinned, holstered his revolver, and swung down off of his horse.

_Christ, these boys are green._

It was a rookie mistake, but it was going to take more than that for Arthur to get them out of this. The young man approached on foot and held out his right hand, ready to receive the repeater.

“Now you take good care of this gun, my daddy spent a lot of money on it,” Arthur lied. The young man narrowed his eyes as he looked at it.

“Is it worth a lot?”

“Oh _yeah._ Worth a pretty penny as a collector’s item. Make sure your buddies here don’t swipe it on you while you’re sleepin' tonight,” Arthur said, jerking his head at the two riders behind their leader.

“My boys wouldn’t-“

There it was.

In the split second it took for the younger man to cast a quick glance back at his partners, Arthur had dropped the repeater and grabbed the man’s right wrist with his left hand. With his own right hand, Arthur swiftly brought his Volcanic pistol under his new hostage’s chin. With his foot, he kicked the repeater to the right over to Albert.

“Eddie!,” one of the horsemen cried.

“Al, get behind cover.” He didn’t dare take his eyes off of the face in front of him, but he could make out Albert grabbing the repeater and slinking off out of his peripheral vision.

“Don’t let him get-“ Eddie’s words were halted as Arthur shoved the barrel end of his Volcanic into his mouth.

“Weren’t talkin’ to you, _boy."_

It was a completely different situation than it was mere seconds before, but not necessarily better. Arthur tried positioning Eddie between himself and his two partners, who were beginning to look anxious. He dared a quick glance back at the fire, but Albert was no longer anywhere the light of the campfire could reach; he didn’t know where he was.

“Let him go,” the third man finally spoke up, unable to hide a nervous tremble in his voice. Arthur blatantly ignored him, and spoke directly to Eddie.

“How do you think I got to be as old as I am? Weren’t by makin' stupid mistakes, I’ll tell you that much.”

The younger man’s eyes were trying to drill into his own with some semblance of anger, of dignity, but to Arthur they only had ‘fear’ written all over them. 

He continued, “So here’s what’s gonna happen, Eddie. Either you tell your boys to run off and then once they do that, I’ll let your sorry ass leave... or I’m gonna blow out the back of your skull and fill ‘em with lead as well. What’s it gonna be?”

He removed the barrel from Eddie’s mouth to let him speak, but kept the gun right in front of his face. Eddie looked pissed, and Arthur could exactly fault him for that. Before he could formulate a response however, a gunshot rang out from Arthur’s right and one of the horsemen cried out in pain. Both of Eddie’s partners began firing blindly into the night.

In the commotion, Eddie reached down with his left hand and grabbed Arthur’s sawn-off from his off-hand holster. He began to remove it and Arthur had no choice but to pull the trigger, all but destroying the lower half of the younger man’s head in a red mist.

“God DAMN it!” Frustrated, Arthur wheeled back around to the closest tree for cover and began peppering shots with his Volcanic as another yelp of pain rang out somewhere in the darkness. This continued for less than a minute before the sounds of more horses and gunfire came from the road in the opposite direction the bandits had come from.

“Shit, we gotta run!,” one of Eddie’s friends shouted. He spurred his startled horse back in the direction they came, and the second horseman followed after, clutching his side as he went. Arthur had spent his rounds and had to reload, and was forced to let them get away.

“Son of a _bitch,”_ he growled under his breath as he turned his attention towards the new faces. As they got closer to the campfire’s light, he could make out an older mustachioed man and a blond woman in culottes much younger than him, both on horseback aiming their carbine repeaters down the road at the bandits.

“Ran off again,” the woman said, sounding more disappointed than anything. She scanned the small campsite and looked down at Arthur. “You alright, sir?”

He answered angrily from behind his tree, “That depends, you tryin’ to rob me too?” She laughed at that and raised her gun skywards.

“No, nothing like that. We deal with those rustlers from time to time, they’re always giving us trouble back at the ranch.” Her partner tapped her on the side and pointed at Eddie’s lifeless body on the ground near the fire. “Looks like you had it handled though.”

“Barely. I appreciate you two showing up when you did.” He came out from behind the tree so they could get a proper look at him. Out of an abundance of caution, he kept his Volcanic resting at his side, ready to go.

“Was it just you out here?,” the older man questioned.

“No, me and… a friend. Al, you can come out now!,” he called out.

_"Arthur!"_

A distressed cry came out from somewhere in the darkness and Arthur’s stomach immediately twisted itself into a knot; he’d _never_ heard Albert’s voice sound like that. He instinctively holstered his pistol and ran towards the sound.

"Al!"

It took a few moments for his eyes to readjust to the dark, but he found Albert soon enough, lying flat on his back near a tree, gripping his shoulder, legs flailing and face contorted in pain. The repeater was forgotten at his side, and even in the darkness he could tell Albert’s hands were wet with something.

“No…,” Arthur whispered. He knelt down to inspect Albert and saw blood, too much blood.

“You were right, I did get to shoot a gunslinger after all,” Albert said between strained breaths.

 _"Really?!_ Al, _please_ shut up.”

“You alright over there?,” the woman called out.

“No, he’s been shot! He needs a doctor!”

The woman dismounted and came over with a small lantern she lit as she walked. With the new light source they could all see how bloody Albert’s shoulder and shirt were.

“Oh, that ain’t good… Amos! Run into town, get Doctor Johnston. I’m gonna bring ‘em back to the guest house.”

“Yes, ma’am.” With a courteous tip of the hat, the older man kicked his horse into motion, continuing down the path the bandits had run off in.

“Al, can you ride?”

“Of course I can. It’s really not all tha- _aaAAAUGGGH!”_ An agonizing cry escaped Albert when he tried to lift himself off the ground and it made Arthur want to tear his hair out. He would do anything to take that pain from Albert, but there was nothing he could do.

“We gotta try, Al. Come on, ride with me.” He whistled for Ivy to come over while the woman kicked out the campfire.

“My ranch isn’t too far from here, follow me,” she commanded as she mounted her horse.

* * *

It took some finagling, but Arthur managed to get Albert up on top of Ivy and they both rode her with Penny in tow behind this woman who was showing more kindness than they deserved or expected. Not that Arthur was complaining, or in even a headspace to question if she had ulterior motives, leading them into some sort of trap. Instead he was just focused on keeping the man seated behind him conscious, not at all wanting to acknowledge the fact that he had just taken a life for the first time in several years.

“You gotta hold on tighter, Al, I don’t want you falling off.”

“I’m trying not to get any blood on your back,” he replied with a low voice Arthur had to strain to hear.

“Damn the shirt, I’ll get a new one!”

“I don’t know if we’ve got the budget for that…” Even now the man was throwing out quips.

“Don’t tell me you finally blew through all that Blackwater money.”

“Oh, so you’re only with me for my money? I knew it all along.” It was a ridiculous conversation, but at least Albert was still present enough to carry it.

“Technically you got _my_ share anyway,” Arthur grumbled.

They soon crossed over a small wooden bridge and a large two-story house with a wrap-around porch came into view. The woman led them past it however, to a collection of smaller wooden shacks adjacent to the main house. She dismounted and opened the door to one of them as men began to curiously look out from the doors of the other shacks.

“Let’s get him in here, come on,” she urged. 

Arthur tried to get Albert down as delicately as he could, but he still found the pained shout Albert let out as he was jostled from the horse maddening. Somehow, they managed to get inside the small, one room shack soon after and Albert was placed on the sole bed inside, Arthur sitting at his side.

The woman disappeared outside briefly, and soon returned with a bottle of whiskey.

“It’s gonna be a while before the doctor can make it here. I recommend you down this to numb the pain,” she said as she forced the bottle into Albert’s good hand. He looked at it briefly.

“You wouldn’t happen to have gin, would you?”

“Al, just drink the damn whiskey...,” Arthur pleaded as he wiped a dirty hand over his face.

“I’m afraid we don’t have any, sorry,” the woman confessed, sounding amused.

“Just a preference is all, my apologies. And I’m sorry, I don’t believe we got your name, Miss…?” He needed help unscrewing the cap, which Arthur promptly did for him before turning back to face their new benefactor who was now lingering in the doorway.

“Bonnie MacFarlane. Just Bonnie’s fine though.”

“Arthur Mason. And this is my cousin, Albert,” he lied, falling back on their long-running alibi.

She nodded, “Pleased to meet you. Wish it were under better circumstances.”

Albert was about to say something, but Arthur forced him to take another swing of the liquor before asking his own question, “Why’re you helping us? You just met us.” She almost seemed offended by the question.

“I wasn’t just gonna leave you out there like that. The world’s cruel enough as it is. And anyone who stands up to those assholes is alright in my book.”

“You recognized them?,” Arthur asked. She shook her head.

“Not those men specifically, but I could tell they ran with the Mercer Boys. They bother us from time to time, but usually they’re more of a menace to people out on the road.”

“Who’re the Mercer Boys?,” Arthur prompted before forcing Albert to finish off the rest of the bottle.

“Some gang that’s been based out of Fort Mercer for a few years now, hence the name. Not the most imaginative bunch. You’ll be safe here though, they’re not stupid enough to mess with us.”

Albert set the empty bottle aside and caught his breath before asking, “And where exactly are we?” Strong fumes of alcohol wafted off his breath and slammed into Arthur’s face, watering his eyes and almost knocking him over.

“MacFarlane Ranch. Technically it’s my father’s, but I basically run things around here, what with him being gone so often.”

“Well thank you, Miss MacFarlane. For helping us. We’ll make it up to you,” Arthur said.

“Ain’t no problem at all. I’m sure I can find something to put you to work on tomorrow, but let’s get your cousin patched up first.”

“And how much longer will that be?,” Albert asked tentatively. Bonnie shrugged.

“Not sure. I sent Amos ahead to Armadillo, but it _is_ late, maybe the doctor already closed up for the evening. He owes me a favor though, he’ll come through. And he’s a quirky fellow, but he’ll set you straight.”

* * *

Bonnie stayed with them, making light conversation about nothing in particular in the small guest house. She did manage to procure some beers for the three of them and Albert’s speech was getting noticeably more slurred. It had been about half an hour when she turned to look back outside at the sound of approaching horses. She exited and briefly spoke with someone out of view.

“How you holding up?,” Arthur quietly asked. It was the first time they were alone since the incident. Albert had a loopy look on his face, fully intoxicated at this point.

“Oh, I’m just dandy, how are you?”

“I’m worried sick about you,” he admitted. Before he could continue, a new man sporting a clean mustache and a bolo tie entered the room with a bag and promptly removed his hat.

“Evening, gentlemen. I’m Doctor Nathaniel Johnston.” He extended a hand out to Arthur, who shook it.

“Arthur Mason. My cousin Albert here is the one who got shot.”

“You let me know if you need anything, doctor,” Bonnie said as she closed the door to the room, offering a modicum of privacy.

“Thank you, Miss MacFarlane,” he called out as he brought a chair over to be at Albert’s side. He brought the sole lantern in the dark room closer and leaned forward to inspect the wound. “Albert, was it? How many times have you been shot?”

“I’m afraid this is my first time.” The doctor allowed himself a brief chuckle at that.

“No, I mean how many bullets am I about to remove from you?”

“Oh. Just the one.”

“Alright, that’s not too bad. But I am going to need you to remove your vest and shirt if we’re going to have a proper go at this,” he explained as he stood up and turned around to begin digging around in the bag of supplies at his feet.

Understandably Albert had trouble with this and Arthur was forced to step in and help. With the doctor’s back turned to them Albert whispered with slurred words, “Mister Morgan, how forward of you…” No doubt it was the liquor talking.

 _“Please_ shut up,” Arthur whispered back.

When the doctor turned back around he was wearing an old, stained apron and fine white gloves. He gave the bare-chested Albert lying on the bed a once over. All the hair matted down with dried blood made for a grisly sight.

“Didn’t realize I’d be operating on a werewolf.” Albert laughed nervously at that, but Arthur shot the man a mean look.

“Are you a doctor or a comedian?,” he snapped.

“Relax, friend. I’m just trying to lighten the mood before my patient here begins cursing the day I was born. Excuse me a moment.” He strode over to the door, opened it and looked around. Failing to find what he was looking for, he closed the door behind him and said to Arthur, “I don’t know what’s taking my assistant so long, but I don’t want to waste any more time, so you’ll have to do. Please get on top of him and pin him down to the bed.”

Arthur blinked. “Sorry?”

The doctor took up his seat at Albert’s bedside again. “Once we get started, I’m going to need him to lie still, and I can’t exactly hold him down while also digging around for this bullet. Please, it would make my job a lot easier.”

Arthur looked to Albert for permission and got an equally confused but willing expression in response. Feeling incredibly awkward, Arthur situated himself to be kneeling over his lover, pinning down his thighs with his own. He rested his forearms across Albert’s chest, careful not to apply pressure anywhere near the wound on his left shoulder. Their faces were close. Eyes locked onto each other in worry and uneasy anticipation. It wasn’t a wholly unfamiliar position for them, but it certainly was a brand new context.

“There you go, pretend like you like each other,” the doctor quipped. He removed some kind of narrow pliers from his bag and doused them in odorous antiseptic fluid he poured from a small glass bottle. He leaned forward and took a sniff of Albert’s breath. “Seems like Miss MacFarlane’s gone ahead and got you good and liquored up, that right?”

Albert’s forehead was now visibly covered in beads of sweat, and he looked nervous as hell. “Just about…”

“Well that only does so much to dull the pain, but with any luck you won’t remember this.” The doctor took a deep breath. “Okay, you boys ready?”

“No?”

“Not really…”

“Too bad, here we go.”

The pliers made a horrible, wet sound as the doctor plunged them into the hole in Albert’s shoulder, but it was nothing compared to the animalistic cry he let out in protest. Arthur quickly had to reposition himself to place more weight down on Albert’s left elbow to keep him from twisting up and out of place.

“Shouldn’t he be, I don’t know, bitin' down on a belt or something?,” Arthur asked frantically. The doctor seemed largely unbothered by not only the fresh blood but the spectacle of having a man writhe in pain in front of him, so maybe he was a professional after all.

“Personally I find that that doesn’t really do much beyond ruin a perfectly fine belt,” he mused over Albert’s shouts. Then, quieter and more to himself, “Damn, it’s really in there…”

Personally, Arthur could’ve gone without the commentary.

It had been a long time since Arthur had last taken a bullet like this, but he could remember the pain all the same and could easily sympathize with the ordeal Albert was currently experiencing. After the doctor had spent maybe five minutes unsuccessfully trying to extract the bullet Albert gasped with some of the last of his strength, “Maybe we should take a break?”

“No can do, friend. Sooner I get this out and get you stitched up, the better. Just hang in there, you’re doing a great job. The both of you.” Despite his best efforts, Albert was squirming and unwilling to comply underneath Arthur.

“Don’t feel like I’m doin’ a great job…”

“Well he hasn’t managed to punch me or stab me with my own equipment yet, so I’m counting that as a win. I swear if you knew half the things… _damn it, I almost had it…_ if you knew half the things people have done to me over the years, you’d wonder why I became a doctor at all.” He certainly was a chatty fellow. Arthur typically didn’t like dealing with doctors but this one had the good sense not to ask how Albert had gotten shot in the first place and so far hadn’t demanded any bribes to keep quiet about it.

_Where was this guy when we were still in the gang?_

“You have a habit of being attacked by your patients?”

“I used to, but now I got a new assistant who does all the heavy lifting, and fighting, for me.”

Albert’s breaths became sharper, and after a particularly forceful plunge with the pliers his eyes rolled back into his head. His body went slack.

Worry didn’t so much creep into Arthur’s voice so much as it completely subsumed it. “What happened? The hell did you do to him!?” The doctor calmly touched Albert’s neck and paused.

“He finally passed out. About time. Tough son of a gun held on longer than most.” Arthur couldn’t decide if this blasé demeanor was comforting or insulting. Barely fifteen seconds after Albert had gone slack the doctor pulled out a small, bloody lump of metal. _“Gotcha._ ” He dropped it on the side table with a small _plunk_ and wiped the sweat off his forehead with a victorious smile.

“Is that it?”

“Sure is. He lucked out; it’s just a normal bullet and not one of those new exploding tip ones. _Those_ are messy.” It sounded like he was speaking from experience. The old west was still alive and well in New Austin it seemed.

The whole ordeal was maybe seven or eight minutes, but it felt like an hour to Arthur. He rolled off of Albert, slumping against the wall that the bed was pushed up against. It was barely wide enough to hold both of them. The doctor looked like he was about to unleash another quip when the door opened and they both turned to see the new visitor, a tall, bearded man with a broad frame.

“Sorry I’m late, you know I can’t see for shit at night. Is this the…” The man’s words died in his throat as he stared at Arthur for the first time in five years.

And Arthur found himself staring back at Bill Williamson, equally surprised.

“Forget it, Ben, you missed the entire operation. Had to rope this poor fellow into doing _your_ job.” When he didn’t get the desired reaction out of his assistant, the doctor noticed the strange tension in the room.

 _"Bill?_ I thought you were dead?”

Bill’s words still failed him, but his eyes widened as they snapped to the side. Arthur followed them and was instantly staring down the barrel of a revolver that the doctor was leveling at his face from a foot away.

“Not another word out of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhangers are fun, aren't they?
> 
> There are two keystones to the Red Dead fandom: 1) John can't swim and 2) Abigail can't cook. We hold these truths to be self-evident.
> 
> After re-reading Summer of '99, one thing that I felt was curiously absent was the complete lack of third-party threats. Sure, I mentioned Lemoyne Raiders in passing and there was a pivotal scene with the Murfree Brood, but Arthur and Albert together never ran into any trouble with bandits on the road when it was just the two of them. I figured that luck was going to run out eventually, but I promise this setup will serve a purpose.
> 
> Also, Nathaniel Johnston is not an OC; he's the doctor that saves John's life towards the beginning of RDR1. He didn't have much of a speaking role in that game however, and I'm clearly taking some liberties with fleshing out his character, but he was fun to write and I hope he was entertaining: https://reddead.fandom.com/wiki/Nathanial_Johnston


	4. Benjamin Wilcox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Bill catch up with each other before they're interrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of Bill in this chapter. Like a lot of Bill. Possibly too much? You be the judge, but it's been five years and there's a lot of catching up to do with him.
> 
> Picks up immediately where the last chapter left off.
> 
> _UPDATE- This chapter was updated for minor edits on 11/21/2020_

“What the hell are you doin', Nate?!”

The doctor quickly glanced at Bill standing in the doorway before averting his eyes back to Arthur, who was supremely confused by the sudden turn of events. For whatever reason, the doctor looked equally concerned, even though _he_ was the one who escalated the situation.

In a panicked tone he asked, “He knows your name. How does he know your name?!”

“'Cause he’s a friend, he used to be in the gang with me,” Bill hushed as he gently closed the door behind him.

“The gang that broke up because one of them sold you out to Pinkertons? How do you know it wasn’t _him?,"_ Doctor ‘Nate’ jeered at Arthur, who still had not spoken since the gun appeared.

_Why’d Bill tell this guy about the gang?_

“Because he’s one of the good ones! He saved me from swingin' at Sisika and he hated Micah anyway. Gimme _that."_ Bill walked forward and snatched the revolver out of Nate’s hands forcefully and put it back in the supply bag muttering, _"_ _Knew I shouldn’t’a given you this…"_

With the immediate threat removed, Arthur dared to clear his throat and speak up, “Micah’s also dead. So… there’s that…” Bill straightened up at that and looked surprised.

“How do you know?”

“Cus I watched John put six bullets in his chest.”

Now even more confused, “When did _that_ happen?”

“The day after Dutch died.” Bill’s eyes fell to the floor in thought.

“You… you tellin’ me I’ve been laying low for five years waitin' for him to come find me... for _nothing?_ ”

“Sounds like it.”

“...son of a bitch,” Bill whispered to himself.

The room was still for a bit before Nate shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I still have a patient here…”

Snapping out of his thoughts, Bill asked, “Sorry, you need me to hold him down?”

“Well he’s passed out and like I said, you missed the hard part; I just need to stitch him up at this point.”

“You’re not gonna shove a gun in his face too, are you?,” Arthur asked half-sarcastically, half-sardonically. Nate clearly didn’t find humor in the question.

“I will refrain from doing so. I apologize, Mr. Mason, I was too quick to judge. You understand that my…,” he turned to make eye contact with Bill, _“assistant_ here has a questionable past and it is in my best interests to protect him. He’s a changed man now, and I couldn’t do this work without him.” Arthur wasn’t about to point out that he just successfully removed a bullet from a patient without Bill’s help.

“Course, I understand.” Arthur slowly slid off the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb Albert who was still unconscious. “Mind if I step outside for a bit? I don’t like watching stitch jobs.”

_Don’t like seeing Al laid out like this either._

“Of course, I’ll just be a few minutes,” Nate said. He bent forward again to search for new tools in that bag he brought with him. In retrospect, judging by the stories of patients attacking him, it made sense that a doctor would carry a gun with the rest of his medical supplies. Especially around these parts.

* * *

The night air outside wasn’t necessarily cool, but it felt like a splash of ice water across the face compared to the stifling heat inside the one-room guest house Bonnie had graciously set them up in. She was nowhere to be seen, which was understandable, it was late after all. Two ranch hands were out on the front porch of a separate shack. One of them gave Arthur a simple nod before putting out his cigarette and they both went inside shortly after.

After about a minute, Bill exited the door and joined Arthur on this small front porch, leaning against the same railing. They sized each other up in the moonlight.

“Bill Williamson. I don’t believe it.”

“I go by ‘Benjamin Wilcox’ now, but yeah, I’m still here,” he replied, sounding surprised himself.

“Not gonna lie, I had you written off for dead.”

“I don’t blame you. ‘Specially towards the end of the gang, I almost was.”

“Guess you’re tougher than you look. Which is sayin’ something cus you were always a mean-mugging son of a bitch.” Bill laughed at that and Arthur noticed it didn’t sound wet or raspy at all.

“That I was. And I still can be, but I’ve mellowed out. Almost drownin' in my own blood made me see things different...”

“Well you sound good.” Bill shrugged. His smile faded.

“Yeah, _now._ It took almost a year before I could go a full day without coughing. Then another two before I could start putting weight back on. I still have my bad days but the air out here helps. But I think if I ever set foot in Lemoyne again I’d just drop dead on the spot.”

“If I ever have to set foot in a swamp again, I’d want to!” They both laughed aloud at that, too loud. From one of the other small buildings a different ranch hand emerged, wearing only his long johns.

“Keep it down, will ya? Some of us are tryin’ to sleep, you ungrateful bastards!”

Too exhausted to bite back, Arthur just lazily waved a hand in apology but Bill went a step further. “Sorry pal, we’ll be quiet.” Arthur had to fight back his surprise.

_The old Bill would’ve started a fistfight with that guy._

The man scowled at them, but turned back inside his building and shut the door. Bill walked down off the front porch and began meandering. “Come on, let’s go for a walk and let these boys sleep.”

“You know your way around here?,” Arthur asked as he tentatively started following.

“Oh yeah, Nate and I are here all the time. Miss MacFarlane likes working with him and her boys are always gettin’ hurt doing something or another.” Seemed believable enough, so Arthur tagged along as they crossed the main road that bisected the ranch. They only came across one man out on guard duty patrolling the place, the older gentleman named Amos who had run ahead to get the doctor. He seemed to recognize “Ben” and was content to let the two of them go about their business.

“So who’s that feller that was in there with you? I didn't get a good look at him,” Bill asked once they were situated by one of the horse corrals. Arthur began wringing his hands together anxiously as he leaned forward onto the fence.

“That’s Al. Albert. I don’t know if you remember-“

“Really?,” Bill interrupted, sounding surprised. “He stuck around all this time?,” he teased.

“I’m just as surprised as you are.”

“Well good for you. The hell happened to him though? He looked like shit. No offense.”

“We were out traveling, set up camp for the night a short ways from here when these young guns came up and tried robbin’ us. One thing led to another and I ended up…,” he paused, _"_ _dealing_ with one of ‘em, Al shot another, but he took a bullet in the shoulder as well. Miss MacFarlane showed up and scared them off and she brought us back here.”

Bill was looking out over the ranch as he was taking it all in. “Hmm. Bet you they were Mercer Boys.”

“That’s who she thought they were. Are they trouble?” Bill scoffed.

“Nah, they’re a bunch of pushovers. I mean, sure, they’ll rob anyone out on the road when they outnumber you, but they ain’t hitting banks or trains or doing half the shit _we_ used to try. They just think they’re hot shit because they’re holed up in an old fort that was abandoned.”

“You seem to know a lot about ‘em,” Arthur observed. This was met with a disapproving glance out of the corner of Bill’s eyes.

“I ain’t about that life no more if that’s what you’re hintin' at. I’ve gone clean. But of course I know a lot about ‘em. Half our ‘customers’ are poor bastards who got shot by ‘em and lived to tell about it. Well, usually they live... Nate’s good, but he can only do so much, you know?”

“What _is_ the story with that guy in there?,” Arthur asked, jerking his head towards the small houses. “How’d you end up as a doctor’s assistant of all things?”

It was Bill’s turn to look out over the empty corral in silence, trying a few times to begin, but clearly having trouble deciding where to start. “Guess I should go way back. That night, that last night back at the house? No one knew what the hell was going on, how soon the Pinkertons would show up. Everyone scattered in a million different directions.”

Arthur grew curious; he never knew exactly what had happened that night back at Shady Belle, always felt guilty asking the others who had been there. With renewed interest he turned to face Bill on his left, leaning just one arm on the fence. “We eventually found the rest of them, ‘cept for you and Javier; you two were the big mystery.”

“Well that’s the thing; I know I was never really liked around camp, everyone just kinda tolerated me. Javier was really my only friend. And I guess you towards the end,” he added while casting an unsure sideways glance at Arthur. Getting a small nod in return he continued, “The two of us only managed to make it to some abandoned shack outside Rhodes. Remember, he got shot in the leg, and I had to take care of him. Ironic, given the state _I_ was in.”

“No one offered to help him?”

“Like I said, it was chaos, every man for himself.” He spaced out for a moment, likely remembering that last night at Shady Belle. Arthur didn’t know it was that bad; now he felt guilty for spending that night alone by Dutch’s grave, doing nothing.

“Then what happened?” Bill blinked back to the present.

“Well we just laid low for a week or so in that shack until Javier felt like he could ride again. Real low, like ‘didn’t go outside for six days’ low. We were scared and really gettin’ on each other’s nerves. Finally we made a break for it to head west. We were somewhere outside of Strawberry when I started coughing real bad; guess it was the mountain air.

“It was so bad, thought I was gonna keel over right there. Javier didn’t know what to do and when he tried pickin' me up off the ground I accidentally coughed on him. Nowhere near his face or nothing like that, but I did get blood on his shirt. He got real mad, said I did it on purpose, and he left me there on the side of the road.”

“Jesus…” While he was glad to see Bill was still alive at all, Arthur had long felt responsible for the man’s illness; he caught it while collecting a debt that Arthur had dragged his feet on going to get.

“Don’t really remember what happened next, but I woke up that night in the back of a wagon, surrounded by crates of medicine. Turns out Nate,” he paused to roll his eyes, “‘scuse me, _'_ _Dr. Johnston'_ was picking up a shipment from Riggs Station when he found me. He brought me back to Armadillo and basically saved my life.”

“Sounds like you lucked out.”

“I really did.” Bill gave a strangely genuine grin directed at no one in particular. Arthur had only ever seen him smile when he was shitfaced or after a particularly violent firefight, but this was something different.

“So what exactly does a doctor’s assistant do? I know you’re not gonna tell me you went to medical school.” Bill chuckled at that.

“Nah. I may have lost a ton of weight, but I can still pin a guy down to a chair while Nate’s pullin' a tooth out or something like that. Sometimes it’s just easier to knock ‘em out though,” he stated while cracking his knuckles together menacingly.

“If I went into a doctor’s office and saw you, I’d probably run out screaming.”

“Then it’d be my job to chase after you and drag you back in,” he joked. “I wasn’t home when Nate got this call tonight though, I was still out at the bar. That’s why I was late gettin’ here.” Arthur furrowed his brows in confusion.

“What do you mean you weren’t ‘home’? You two live together?” Bill seemed caught off guard at the question.

“Well I mean… I’m still technically his patient. You know, for the bad days when my lungs act up, he likes keepin' me close to keep an eye on that stuff.”

“Is that why you’re on a first-name basis with your boss? That why he pulled a _gun_ on me when I recognized you from your old days?” He had a feeling there was something more to this. 

Defensively, Bill explained, “Yeah. He’s protective of all his patients, he’s a good man. A good doctor.” It still sounded like a flimsy argument to Arthur.

“So how’re you payin' him for keeping you alive if he’s also your boss? Wouldn’t he just be paying himself?” Judging by the uncomfortable expression on Bill’s face, Arthur knew he had nailed him down. He uneasily looked around before replying in a hushed voice.

“Look, all I’m gonna say is that… when two fellers spend a lot of time alone together, they get to talkin’. And sometimes they find out they have… _certain things_ in common.” 

Despite being alone and out in the open where no one could realistically eavesdrop, Arthur likewise lowered his voice and narrowed his eyes at Bill, “Tell me if I’m wrong, but this don’t sound like a strictly professional relationship to me.” They locked eyes silently for several moments.

“You ain’t wrong…” They traded sly grins at that.

“Son of a bitch. Here I thought you were just a naturally miserable bastard all these years. Turned out you just needed to get laid.”

“Shut up.” Even in the dark he could tell Bill was blushing.

“Bill Williamson lived, went clean and nabbed himself a doctor, well I never. You been doing pretty well for yourself!”

“Just about. What about you? I was always too scared of gettin’ found out by Pinkertons or Micah if I started poking around looking for everyone so I have no clue what y’all been up to.”

Any residual enjoyment Arthur had from the conversation drained away at the question, as if it had skewered him and pinned him to the spot.

“Things were good for a while. I got a house in Tall Trees now, got a dog, got… someone real special,” he said as he twisted the ring on his left hand in place with the other. Bill raised his eyebrows at that but let Arthur continue. “Couple days ago John showed up at my place, saying Jack got kidnapped by the same Pinkerton who killed Hosea.”

That got an immediate reaction out of Bill. _"_ _Milton,"_ he snarled.

Surprised, “You remember his name?”

“I’ll never forget that bastard,” he growled as he began pacing. “Prowlin' around our cage after they caught us that night. Tellin' us we were gonna swing at Sisika, how he was gonna get a promotion, all while Dutch was dyin’ at my feet.” The sudden ferocity in his demeanor confirmed for Arthur that the old Bill was still alive and well underneath it all.

“Well he’s back, found out where John lives somehow. He said if John couldn’t bring him five names at the end of two months they were gonna arrest _him."_

“Lemme guess, you and me are two of the names?”

Arthur nodded, “Charles, Javier and Micah too.” A flash of concern landed on Bill’s face and he stopped moving.

“Thought you said Micah was dead?”

“He is, but Milton thinks otherwise for some reason.” Bill's anger was quickly supplanted with fresh concern.

“Oh, I don’t like that at all…”

“Bill. He’s dead. Trust me, ain’t no way he survived that. And we stayed in the room with his body for an hour afterwards, we woulda heard him coughing or breathing.”

Obviously confused at that, “What the hell were you doing hanging around a dead body for an hour?”

“Countin' up the Blackwater money.” They both paused. Bill slightly shook his head.

“Bullshit. Only Dutch knew where it was hidden.” Then, as recognition dawned on his eyes, “He told you, didn’t he? When he was…”

_When he was dying._

“Turns out he told Micah first, but he wanted me to get it before he could.”

“Why didn’t he tell _me?”_

“Probably thought you were on death’s doorstep yourself,” he offered.

“So you’re tellin’ me you and John split _all_ that money?”

Arthur scoffed, “And risk the others finding out and coming after us? No way, we split it up with the rest of the gang. Everyone else we could find, that is.” Bill needed a moment to process that before he could form a response.

“You don’t think… you don’t think you could split some more of it, could you?” Bill was certainly entitled to his fair share; he was there during that awful day in Blackwater just as much as the rest of the boys.

“John’s been sittin' on the bulk of what’s left, but he’s a little tied up at the moment,” Arthur reminded.

“Right. So what’s the plan? How’re we gonna _deal_ with Milton?”

_At least he’s willing to help out._

“Slow down, slim, nothing’s happening until we find out where Jack is.”

“Sure, but we gotta do something about Milton too, no? I’m tired of living like this. Worryin' about getting found out, hauled away to prison, gettin’ Nate dragged into it somehow…”

“We haven’t gotten that far yet. I told John to grab Charles and meet me in Thieves’ Landing in two weeks, and we’d come up with a plan then.”

This didn’t seem to satisfy Bill, but he let it go and changed the subject. “So what the hell are you doing out _this_ way then?”

“I was looking for Javier before _this_ happened,” he said, gesturing back to the smattering of buildings where Nate was likely close to wrapping up Albert’s stitches. “But seeing as you’re still alive, guess it makes sense to bring you along too.”

“I’m in. Well... I should probably talk to Nate first, he’s not gonna like this.”

“Do you know where I can find Javier? Sounds like you were the last one to see him.”

Shaking his head, “No clue, and that was five years ago anyway. And he probably wants to see me as much as I wanna see him.” They both fell quiet after that, lost in thought. It sounded like there was some mutual lingering resentment, but they’d have to cross that bridge when they got to it.

_There's gotta be some way-_

Their silent brainstorm was interrupted by the telltale sounds of approaching horses. Multiple horses. Whoever was out riding this late had to have a damn good reason.

“What now?...,” Arthur groaned.

The two of them slinked over to a nearby stable that fed into the fenced-in corral they had been speaking next to. Arthur grunted as his joints cracked when he vaulted over the fence. Bill simply messed up the jump and landed on his ass, but thankfully they didn’t seem to be noticed.

“Miss MacFarlane! Get out here right now!”

Arthur peeked up from his spot to get a good look at the newcomers. There were four men on separate horses, each openly brandishing weapons. Amos, who they had passed earlier, was hiding at one of the corners of the main house’s wrap-around porch with his carbine repeater.

“I know you’re in there, come out!,” the same man shouted.

After a few tense moments, a light turned on in one of the upstairs rooms and Bonnie appeared at the second floor balcony with a rifle, still dressed in her riding clothes. Seemed like she was expecting a long night anyway.

“What is it this time, Ricky?,” she barked. Certainly no fear from this woman.

“Some fellers out on the road killed Eddie tonight, and we know you’re hiding ‘em. Hand ‘em over!”

“Mercer Boys…,” Bill groaned, sounding more irritated than intimidated. 

“I will do no such thing. Maybe he shouldn’t’ve been out robbing folk who can shoot back! Now get lost!”

“If you’re not gonna comply, maybe we’ll just have a look around ourselves.” The leader, or whoever was doing the talking, ‘Ricky’, kept his aim at Bonnie on the balcony and she likewise kept her sights trained on him. The other three dismounted and began moving around however. One was making to enter the main house, and the other two began meandering over to the worker’s houses.

The closest of which was the guest house Albert and Nate were currently in.

“Like hell you are! This is my property, tell your men to get going!”

“Or else what?” A gunshot rang out and it seemed to land at the feet of the horse Ricky was riding, startling it in the process. Nevertheless, the man managed to stay atop his mount.

Calmly priming the bolt of her rifle, Bonnie explained, “Or else the next one’s going between your eyes.”

“This is bad…,” Arthur whispered. However he got no response and looked to his right to see Bill was gone. Quickly scanning the corral and the rest of the stable yielded nothing, but peeking back over the top of the stall he was hiding in he could see Bill crouched and slowly creeping up towards the house, pistol at the ready. It was dark and all of the Mercer Boys had their backs to him, but he was still completely exposed. Arthur cursed under his breath and readied his Lancaster repeater.

“Don’t have to be like this, lady, we just want those two men and then we’ll be on our way.” Finally, Arthur thought he recognized this man talking as the one who got away from their campsite uninjured that night. He’d definitely be able to recognize either him or Albert on sight.

“I wouldn’t be much of a host if I made a habit of turning my guests over to low lifes like you, now would I?”

“This ain’t about you, this is about making things even for Eddie!”

The two men by the side houses to the left split up. One went towards the shack where the man smoking his late-night cigarette had nodded to Arthur before turning in. The other stepped up to the guest house’s porch.

“You can’t have ‘em!”

“Fine! It’s your funeral!”

The horseman fired a shot up at Bonnie, splintering the railing of the balcony, and she pulled back out of sight before she could return fire; Arthur wasn’t sure if she was hurt or not. The man on the porch to the main house was shot by Amos waiting around the corner before he could dash through the front doors.

Simultaneously, Bill began running forwards and firing at the man trying to enter the guest house, whose door was apparently locked. He took the man down clean with two shots, and ran around behind it to avoid getting hit by the fourth man at the other shack. This put him in clear line of sight of the horseman, and he didn’t seem to notice.

Arthur held his breath and focused, calmly raising his Lancaster from behind his cover and aiming down the sights, lining up the horseman’s head. Even from this distance, at night, it was an easy enough shot. He pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

The horseman began firing at Bill, but was apparently a lousy shot, judging by how he missed twice. Arthur quickly primed the lever and aimed again, squeezing the trigger a second time.

Again, nothing.

Bill had managed to scurry behind some crates situated behind the guest house, but he was pinned down from two directions. Now frantic, Arthur looked down at his weapon in confusion until he opened the chamber and found it empty.

_Forgot to reload after Al used it._

His Volcanic would be too unreliable at this range, so he desperately began slamming rounds into the chamber. The two bandits were advancing on Bill and there wasn’t enough time.

Bonnie reappeared and landed a clean shot, as promised, through the horseman’s skull. He slid down off of his horse before being dragged away by it, his foot caught in the stirrup. In the commotion, Arthur hadn’t even noticed the ranch hand he saw earlier in the evening come out of his shack to shoot the last Mercer Boy in the back with his own revolver.

After Amos mercy-killed the man who tried entering the main house, there was a beat of silence.

“Everyone alright?,” Bonnie shouted. Her question was met with affirmations from Bill, Amos and the ranch hand. Arthur took this opportunity to exit the stable and sound off as well, even though he hadn’t contributed anything.

Bill stormed up to him, face screwed up in that familiar anger he hadn’t seen in so long. “What the hell, Arthur, I thought you had my back?”

“I tried, but my gun jammed,” he lied weakly.

“Oh yeah? _Which one?,”_ he asked sarcastically with a hard shove. Amos approached and put himself between the two.

“Alright, that’s enough, Ben. Feller’s had a rough night as it is.” Bill tried drilling his eyes through Arthur with a glare, but he just yielded apologetically.

“Won’t happen again,” he offered.

“Better not,” Bill replied before turning back to the guest house. He knocked on the door and announced himself before Nate undid the lock and let him in. Meanwhile Amos was curiously studying Arthur.

“Got a short temper that one, don’t pay him no mind.”

“Trust me, I know…,” Arthur grumbled. Amos looked like he wanted to press the matter, but Bonnie interrupted as she came off the front porch.

“You alright Mister Mason? Sorry about all that, it ain’t usually this exciting round here.”

“I’m fine, thank you. And thank you for not handing us over to them. I promise I will repay you.” Bonnie crossed her arms and shrugged dismissively.

“Like I said, there’s already enough bad in the world that I don’t need to go adding to it.” She looked down at the last of the Mercer Boys who had fallen, the one who got shot in the back by the ranch hand. “Wish it hadn’t gone down like that. Stupid men, throwing their lives away for nothing...,” she added, shaking her head. She sounded genuinely sad. Arthur followed her gaze to the ground.

He was young. And he didn’t just seem young compared to Arthur, he couldn’t’ve been much older than Lenny when he died. It didn’t sit right with Arthur, even if the fresh corpse at his feet wasn’t his doing. In his right hand, the young man was still holding onto what seemed like a poorly maintained Cattleman revolver, probably the cheapest gun this wannabe criminal could get his hands on.

_Is this whole gang just kids?_

He cleared his throat and said, “That was a hell of a shot on their leader.” Bonnie remained humble.

“I had the high ground and he wasn’t looking at me; I’d be embarrassed if I missed. If nothing else, this’ll teach ‘em to stop messing with us.”

“I ain’t so sure about that, Miss,” Amos interrupted. “I’m afraid this is just gonna bring more of ‘em.”

“We’ve dealt with them before-“

“A few warning shots and fist shaking is one thing, we never killed four Mercer Boys in one night.” He was respectful towards his boss, but the disapproving undertone in his voice was unmissable.

“I’m sorry about all this,” Arthur apologized. “Feel like I dragged you and your people into this mess.”

“Ain’t nothing like that, sir, this has been a long time coming.” Amos was about to retort that, but Bonnie silenced him with a stare. “Amos, get some of the boys to clean this place up and let’s see if we can’t bring back their horses that ran off. I’m gonna bring Mister Mason here back to his cousin.” With a nod, Amos began getting to work, even at this ungodly hour of the night.

Bonnie led Arthur towards the guest house and they were forced to step over the body on the front porch, another young man, Arthur was displeased to note. They entered through the door and saw Albert on the bed to the left, alone and still unconscious. Off to the right, Bill and Nate quickly separated from an obvious embrace.

“Miss MacFarlane! Mr. Wilcox was just telling me what happened outside. I take it none of your people were injured?”

Bonnie seemed largely unfazed by whatever they just walked in on. “We lucked out, yes. I’m not gonna ask you to stitch up anyone else tonight.”

“I’m glad to hear that. However, I was wondering if I could ask if my assistant and I could stay the night.”

“Of course, I ain’t letting you go back out on the roads tonight anyway. Not until the sun comes up and not without an escort; you’re the best doctor in the state and I’d be kicking myself if anything happened to you.”

“Appreciated, Miss,” Nate said with a bow of the head. Arthur quietly slid over to the bed and sat in the chair next to Albert. He was fast asleep, and besides some slight tension in his eyebrows, his face wasn’t contorted in pain any longer.

“I have a spare room in the main house I can set you boys up in, but there’s only one bed.”

Nate and Bill glanced at each other.

“I’m... sure we can figure something out. I just need a few more moments with my patient here.”

“Of course. I’ll be in the house waiting for you.” She paused and looked at Arthur and said, “We’ll talk in the morning,” before walking outside.

Arthur inspected the fresh bandages wrapped around Albert’s left shoulder and frowned at the small red spot he had bled through. Not at the quality of the bandaging, it was tighter and neater than anything he would be able to manage, but more at the fact that Albert had to go through this at all. His words to Albert from just the day before echoed in his mind.

_We’ll be fine. And it’ll be fun._

There was nothing fun at all about the sight in front of him.

He hung his head and sighed before standing up and turning to face the doctor and Bill, who had begun muttering between each other again, faces mere inches apart from each other.

“How’s he lookin'?,” Arthur asked. Nate snapped his head around and now gave him his full attention.

“He should be fine. I’d just keep an eye out for an infection and make sure he gets plenty of rest; he should avoid strenuous activity for several weeks. He actually came to a little while ago and asked for you, but he was still quite inebriated. I expect he’ll wake up with a monster of a hangover tomorrow, but he _will_ wake up.”

Saddened he wasn’t there, Arthur asked, “He asked for me? What did he say?”

“He um…” The doctor cleared his throat uncomfortably, “He asked for you by a different name and seemed to be under the impression that the two of you were not actually cousins. No doubt it was the liquor speaking on his behalf,” he chuckled nervously.

“He always talks silly when he drinks.” 

Arthur wasn’t sure what compelled him to do what he did next: maybe it was a desire to express genuine appreciation or maybe he felt he could trust this doctor based on what Bill hinted at. Maybe both.

He stepped forward and shook Nate’s hand and said, “You saved his life tonight and I can’t thank you enough. Al is important to me.” He placed his left hand on top of their clasped right hands and looked down at it. “He is _very_ important to me.”

The doctor lowered his eyes and judging by the surprised look he returned, he saw exactly what Arthur wanted him to.

“I see… Well he’s very fortunate to have you then.”

“Nah, pretty sure I’m the lucky one,” Arthur joked as they let go. Nate laughed at that as he picked up his supply bag.

“If you say so. I’ll check up on his bandages in the morning, but for tonight… I would recommend against sharing a bed; you don’t want to risk rolling into each other and re-injuring the shoulder, you see.”

“Makes sense,” he chuckled. “Thank you again. And it was good talking to you, _Ben."_

Thankfully, Bill’s temper seemed to have died down because he shot back a sarcastic, “You too, _Mister Mason."_

Arthur walked them outside to grab his bedroll off of Ivy’s saddle and let them go back to the main house. As he was closing the door he could make out Nate mumbling, “Wasn’t that _interesting_ that he was wearing a ring-“

“We are _not_ talkin’ about this again! Not tonight,” Bill hushed with a frustration that amused Arthur.

He locked the door and propped the chair up behind the doorknob for good measure. It was still uncomfortably warm in the room, but he opted to keep the windows closed and the curtains drawn. He simply wanted to allow himself some illusion of safety after the night they had. He found himself terribly homesick for their house in Tall Trees in that moment. Years ago he wouldn’t have even thought he was capable of feeling that emotion.

He set his guns aside on the floor, but easily within reach, and unfurled the bedroll on the ground next to Albert’s bed. He looked over at his lover, still lying in a gentle repose, hirsute chest slowly rising and falling with each breath and looking mighty inviting, bandages notwithstanding. Any other night he would’ve crawled on top of Albert and see where things led.

_Poor bastard’s gonna have a hell of a morning when he wakes up._

He leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss on Albert’s forehead before turning off the lantern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A working title for this chapter was, “Worst honeymoon ever.”
> 
> So Bill is alive. And I feel weirdly defensive about this decision for two reasons that I wanna get off my chest.
> 
> First off, I understand that a lot of people in the fandom just plain don’t like Bill and most works just kind of lump him in the “villain” column as a less competent version of Micah. In game, he is an asshole, he does side with Dutch over Arthur and he is literally one of the main antagonists in RDR1 (to say nothing of his latent racism towards native Americans). But he is also obviously a closeted gay man in a game where there is not a ton of representation on that front (he’s in the implied company of Mr. Black and Mr. White, Alden, and a literal rapist), and as much as it pains me to say it, I saw a bit of myself in his character because I too was once a short-tempered gay man trapped in the closet. So I wanted him to be a better version of himself and dial him back one setting on the “asshole” dial and see where he ended up. Also Nathanial Johnston’s character model is rocking a Freddie Mercury mustache so I felt comfortable claiming him for the gays.
> 
> The second reason I feel defensive over this decision is because in the canon story, Arthur dies from TB, so how does Bill have it but live for five more years? Remember that I always imagined Summer of ‘99 to be a sort of speed-run version of the canon story; things were happening so fast that certain events didn’t transpire. Jack never got kidnapped by the Braithewaites because they left Clemson Point too early. There was never a Guarma detour after the Saint Denis bank robbery. Hell, they never even made it up to Beaver Hollow or met Rains Fall or Eagle Flies. In this accelerated timeline that meant the gang fell apart much earlier, and thus a major source of stress on Bill’s life ended that much sooner. Getting picked up and cared for by a literal doctor and spending five years in the desert didn’t hurt his odds either. I tried giving the impression here that he was towards the end of a long recovery period and Arthur (and consequently you, the reader) didn’t see how bad it was for how long.
> 
> This chapter was also interesting to me to write because I’m doing so much legwork trying to keep the language historically accurate and things would be so much easier if I could just use the word, “gay.” Instead I have to dance around words and subtle implications with care, but that’s probably how gay men had to interact between each other before they knew they could trust the other. Like when Arthur thanks Nate, there a whole bunch of *wink wink, nudge nudge*, instead of just outright saying, “I’m like you.”
> 
> For any astute observers among you who know that a Lancaster Repeater holds 14 rounds before you have to reload it, that fact is preserved in this fic. Which means during the scuffle in the previous chapter, Albert fired the gun 14 times and only hit a guy a few feet away from him once. Ergo, he's a horrible shot, but at least he did have that cool quickdraw that one time.
> 
> Finally, you will pry the “only one bed” trope from my cold, dead hands.


	5. Eddie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur wrestles with his guilt over taking a life for the first time in five years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For added immersion, you can turn off your air conditioning for a few hours, keep the windows closed and read this in the dark at like 3 AM. I don't know why you would, just saying you could.
> 
> This chapter picks up the same night the last one left off.
> 
> _UPDATE- This chapter was updated for minor edits on 11/21/2020_

“Don’t try it.”

Eddie was right in front of Arthur, wearing an expression that was equal parts fear and rage. Those wild eyes, still full of life and potential, were locked onto his, daring Arthur to shoot him.

“Please don’t do it. I don’t wanna have to _do_ this!” Irritation bled into Arthur’s plea.

Eddie’s scowl intensified. “Go to hell.”

He reached forward. Arthur fired.

Volcanics were loud by pistol standards, but this was impossibly loud. It reverberated through Arthur’s head so strongly it sounded like the sky itself was being torn apart as violently as Eddie’s head was by the bullet. A moment earlier where an angry young man’s face had been was replaced by blood and muscle and teeth and fire. The combination of the noise and grisly sight before him were enough to pull him out of the dream with a frightened shout.

Immediately Arthur lunged to the left and grabbed whatever he could in the dark, hands settling on his double-barreled shotgun. He aimed it at the door, seated on the floor, back against the nightstand, out of breath, confused and terrified. He waited.

“Arthur?” The quiet voice coming from above and to his right was timid.

He allowed himself a few seconds to regulate his breathing and gently set the gun back where he had grabbed it from. He sighed.

“Yeah, Al?”

“Are you alright?”

He wasn’t.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lied. “Sorry I woke you, go back to sleep.”

“I wasn’t asleep. Not really.”

There was barely any light leaking into the room from behind the closed curtains. They didn’t seem especially thick, so the sun likely wasn’t even up yet. That meant they had only gotten maybe three or four hours of rest at best.

“You’re usually not much of an early riser.”

“I think I rolled onto my side and the pain woke me up. That and it’s so goddamn _hot_ in this room. Or am I just running a fever?” Now that he was getting full sentences out, Albert’s voice sounded unusually hoarse and raspy. There was almost an attractive quality to it, Arthur found, not that either of them were in any condition to entertain such thoughts. The slur that was courtesy of the whiskey seemed to have largely abated however.

“No, it’s hot as hell in here. I kept the windows closed.”

“Why?”

Arthur shrugged in the dark impulsively before remembering that Albert couldn’t see the gesture. “I don’t know, felt safer that way.”

“...it was a strange night wasn’t it?”

“That’s one word for it.” Arthur slid down from his seated position to lie flat on his bedroll again. He was just exhausted enough that he might actually be able to find sleep again despite the stuffy air of the room, but Albert continued talking in that hushed tone.

“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.” Arthur’s brows drew together in confusion in the dark, but no one could see the expression.

“Sorry for what?”

“For shooting first.” Arthur needed a moment to register what he had just heard.

“I think you’re still drunk, Al.” That was met with an indignant huff.

“I wish I were…”

“You really… you really shot them first?” He hadn’t had time to properly reflect on the incident between witnessing Albert’s ‘surgery’, finding out Bill was still alive, and then dealing with the remaining Mercer Boys who showed up later in the night. That was to say nothing of the trauma of taking a life for the first time in years, which was clearly not sitting well with his subconscious.

“I grabbed your gun and ran off to the side, into the dark where they couldn’t see me. I aimed low, I didn’t want to kill the poor fellow, and I managed to hit him. I wasn’t expecting them to shoot back. Slight oversight on my part,” he offered with a weak, forced chuckle.

“Why did you do that?”

“I was trying to protect you.” A wave of guilt slammed into Arthur at the admission.

“It was my damn fault, I shouldn’t’a picked that spot so close to the road.”

“They would’ve seen our fire from further away anyway,” Albert said.

“Maybe, maybe not, you don’t know.” Albert lay silent for some time, either because he couldn’t think of a rebuttal or because sleep had overtaken him again. Arthur hoped it was the latter, but it wasn’t.

“I just wanted to apologize. I hope you’re not mad at me.” Arthur’s stomach twisted at the words. He knew he couldn’t go to sleep after hearing that.

He propped himself back up so he could have his head next to Albert’s level, just barely able to make out his form in the dim light. “I’m not mad at you, love. Why do you think I would be?”

“I ruined this whole trip. We barely got away from the house and on the first night, _this_ happened,” Albert said. His voice began to crack with emotion towards the end of his explanation. “This was supposed to be _fun_ and relaxing and, and-“

“No, no, shhh.” Arthur tried shushing him while climbing up to seat himself at the edge of the bed, seeking out and finding Albert’s right hand in the dark. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not! What if I can never use this arm again?”

“Well you usually hold the flashbulb up with the right arm, right? You just use the left to squeeze the… the thing, I don’t know what it’s called. You can still take pictures.” The joke didn’t land.

“But there are so many other things-“

“Al. You’re gettin’ yourself worked up. You’ll be fine. Hasn’t even been a day yet.”

He squeezed Arthur’s hand in affirmation while he thought of what to say next. “I just don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’ll never be a burden to me. And I know you’ll be fine; you know how many times I got shot in the arm like that?”

“Twice?”

“Twice! And the first time I had to hide in an outhouse for three hours before I could even think about tryin’ to go back to camp. And we didn’t even have a real doctor to take the bullet out like you did.” Not one of his fonder memories from his youth, but it was one that Albert had managed to wrench out of him over their time together.

“You know, I don’t particularly enjoy hearing stories about you getting hurt.”

“No, but you’re still around to hear ‘em at least, right?”

In a dejected tone, “I suppose.”

“Get some rest, please. For me.” He started to slide off the edge of the bed when Albert reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Stay?” Arthur gently shook his head, still forgetting Albert couldn’t see these nonverbal cues.

“The doctor said we shouldn’t share a bed.”

Albert’s pleading tone was replaced with genuine confusion. “He really said that? Did you ask him if we could?”

“No, but I think he figured something out. Said you were sayin’ some things when he had you alone putting your bandages on.”

“Oh lord, what did I say?...” Albert retracted his hand from Arthur’s arm, no doubt to slap it over his own face.

“Nothing you gotta worry about.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“I’ll tell you later... You really want me up here though?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.” The frame creaked beneath them as Arthur carefully positioned himself between Albert’s right side and the wall, which only gave him a sliver of the bed to rest on. He was still clothed himself, but settled into a position where he could splay a hand across Albert’s bare chest, feeling it rise and fall softly, a quiet reminder that Albert was still alive despite his ordeal just a few hours earlier.

That lasted all of five minutes.

“Okay, you know what? It’s too hot for this; get off me.”

Arthur feigned a startled gasp. “Huh? Wha-?”

“Oh please, you were _not_ asleep.”

“Woulda been if you weren’t so goddamn warm all the time,” he half-seriously complained as he slid off the foot of the bed to stand up.

“I’m gonna remember that this winter when you come rolling over to my side of the bed. And crack a window while you’re up.”

* * *

Sheer exhaustion mercifully granted Arthur’s body some additional sleep, but he was only able to sleep in as late as an hour past sunrise. The sounds of the ranch coming to life outside roused him awake, but left Albert unscathed, still passed out himself. Arthur quietly snuck out the front door without waking him. He was thankful to note the body on the front porch was no longer there. It seemed some water had been splashed on the wood as well in an attempt to wash the pool of blood away.

He found Bonnie on the front porch of the main house seated on a bench with a bowl of oatmeal in her lap that she was working on. She watched Arthur approach with careful eyes.

“Morning, Miss MacFarlane,” he greeted with a tip of his hat.

“Good morning, Mister Mason. Are you alright?”

“Just about, why?”

“You look like you just lost a boxing match.” She gestured at her face and Arthur was reminded of his ‘conversation’ with John two days prior. There was no way his black eyes and split lip had fully healed already, and this was the first time either Arthur or Bonnie were getting a good look at each other in the light of day.

“Ah, this? I was just rough-housing with my brother a few days back.” The answer only seemed to deepen Bonnie’s confusion.

“How old is this brother?” Arthur did some quick math in his head.

“Thirty-one, give or take?”

“Hmm. My brothers used to beat on each other as well, but that stopped once they were grown.”

Arthur stepped one foot forward up onto the porch and leant forward, placing his weight on it. “I bet they still tussle from time to time, no? You never _really_ grow out of it.”

“My brothers have all since passed on, I’m afraid.” She delivered the line with a straight face, but Arthur still dipped his face under the brim of his hat and winced.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.” Clearly not wanting to linger on the topic, Bonnie immediately continued with, “I’m afraid I have a bit of bad news however.”

“I’m no stranger to bad news, let’s hear it.”

“Doctor Johnston already left this morning. Got a call for an emergency back in town and they needed him, so he won’t be able to check in on your cousin.”

“More trouble with the Mercer Boys?”

Bonnie shook her head, “No, sounded like it was a pregnancy.”

“That’s good at least. Did his assistant also leave?”

“He did. I always found those two to be an odd pair, but they get along well enough and helped my boys plenty of times, so I’m not complaining. He also left your bill with me.”

“What do I owe you?”

“Fifteen dollars.” 

For a no-questions-asked bullet removal, that wasn't bad at all. Now Arthur _really_ wondered why they never found a doctor like Nathanial Johnston back during the gang’s hay day. He reached into his back pocket for his money clip, but Bonnie waved for him to stop.

“I don’t want your money, Mister Mason.”

“I said I’d pay you back though.”

A shadow of a smile spread across her face. “And you will. So listen, I have eight ranch hands working here, not including Amos, and three of them are out looking for a place to bury those Mercer Boys from last night. So we’re a little understaffed this morning.”

He could already tell where this day was going. “Tell me what needs doing and it’ll get done.”

Bonnie set her empty bowl aside and slung the bolt action rifle that was resting against the wall beside her over her shoulder. She stepped off the porch and Arthur moved to make way for her to pass. “You good with horses?”

“Sure.”

“Good. Grab yourself some breakfast then I’ll show you around the place.”

* * *

It was a grueling day of physical labor under the New Austin sun. That was good, that was what Arthur wanted. It was a way to force himself not to dwell on all the thoughts simmering just under the surface of his mind. There was no time to think about Jack or John or Javier or Albert or Eddie. Not when he was brushing down temperamental horses left over from the Mercer Boys last night that would sooner kick a hole in his head than take an apple from him. Not when he was busy shoveling piles of horse shit out of the stables. Not when Bonnie even talked him into milking a cow.

Albert spent most of the morning laid up in bed, but he managed to drag himself out to the porch of the guest house for some fresh air, despite Arthur’s protests. They shared a late lunch talking about nothing in particular between the lack of Arthur’s appetite for conversation and Albert’s overall fatigue.

The three hands that were tasked with burying the Mercer Boys from the night before returned around midday, no doubt taking their sweet time off the property to avoid work, but they fell back into their own routines quickly enough, mostly working in set pairs. They seemed to be a chummy lot judging by how they all teased each other and they thankfully took a quick liking to Arthur, even though he was noticeably older than all of them, save for Amos.

There was a constant aura of distrust lingering around the older man however. Amos had been near, but not close to Arthur most of the day, always keeping him in his field of vision. Arthur kept his head down and focused on his tasks, nothing he hadn’t been asked to do before at John’s place, but the constant feeling of eyes following his every movement was unmissable.

* * *

_8/27/04_

_Albert got shot._

_He’ll live, but it’s still my fault. I picked a spot for camp too close to the road and some young crooks tried robbing us. We managed to scare them off with the help of a woman named Bonnie MacFarlane, but I was forced to kill one of them._

_He was young, and angry. Reminded me of myself when I was his age. I have not taken a life since I was in the gang, and it is weighing on me something fierce._

_The way Albert screamed made me wish I could’ve taken two bullets to spare him the one. It is a wonder that he stays at my side at all some days._

_Also, Bill is alive. Lives with the doctor that saved his life and Albert’s. Seems we all owe that man a drink._

* * *

“Please don’t make me.”

It wasn’t the hatred in the eyes that upset him, he could handle hatred. It was how _young_ they looked.

“Eddie, don’t-”

But again Eddie did. And again Arthur stopped him.

Again, the gunshot sounded louder than it had any right to be and Arthur jolted upright from his bedroll on the floor. He didn’t reach for a gun this time, instead just opting to place a hand over his chest in an attempt to slow his breathing. This time Albert turned on the small gas lantern at the bedside table.

“What is it?” His hair was disheveled all over the place and he kept his eyes squinted from the sudden brightness in the room. Arthur didn’t even want to guess what time it was.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not.”

He drove his palms into his eyes in an attempt to rub the image of Eddie away. “Just a bad dream is all.”

“About what?” Arthur let his head fall backwards against the nightstand with a small _thud._

“Eddie. Think that was his name.” Albert needed a moment to place why the name was familiar.

“One of the men who tried robbing us?”

“Yeah, the one that was doing most of the talkin'.”

Albert tried shifting his position to lean towards Arthur on the floor better, but winced at the added weight on his left shoulder and decided to just stay where he was. “Are you worried he’ll come after us? I spoke with Bonnie this afternoon, she said she was going to have some of her people on watch at all times.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow and looked up and to his right at Albert. “Did you not see what happened to him?”

“No,” he admitted. “After I went to the side and the shooting started I was a little preoccupied. But Bonnie scared them all off when she showed up, I heard that much.”

He hadn’t seen.

“Al, I killed him. I shot him dead right there.” Saying the words aloud for the first time did not alleviate some invisible weight off of his chest. If anything it made the tension already present even tighter. Albert looked unsure how to respond.

“Well maybe he survived, you don’t-“

“Not while he’s missing half his head he didn’t,” Arthur interrupted. It was enough to rob Albert of his words for almost a whole minute, which was no small feat.

“It was because I shot first, isn’t it?” Arthur shook his head.

“It was because he reached for my gun. It was me or him.”

“When was the last time-...” Arthur feigned needing time to think about the question but in truth he knew the answer instantly.

“Five years ago, in Saint Denis. The day of the bank robbery. A lawman came out onto the balcony and shot Sadie in the stomach. I shot back and dropped him.”

“That _was_ a long time ago,” Albert acknowledged.

Arthur’s eyes rested on the door to the guest house, but he couldn’t focus on anything at all really. “I thought I’d changed. Thought I could be a good person. Be good for you. I’m just the same as I ever was though.”

“Don’t say that,” Albert chastised.

“How can I not? I tried changin', I tried living a normal life-“

“And you did! And you still are!-“

“Ain’t nothing normal about snuffin' out a young life like that. You saw him, Al, he was barely a man yet.”

Albert had nothing to say to that. Arthur continued.

“I saw myself in him. I was even younger than that when I first fell in with Dutch and Hosea, into the life. Now he’s gone.” Albert ran his good hand through his hair and sighed.

“I had no idea. I thought he just ran off with the rest of them.”

“I didn’t want to tell you, you had enough goin' on.”

“Just because I need help right now doesn’t mean I can’t help you at the same time,” he offered.

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean? You’re ‘supposed to’ be able to handle… what you did all on your own?”

_He can’t even say it._

Still refusing to look his lover in the eyes, Arthur spoke out into the room, “I may do good things from time to time, but at the end of the day I’m still a bad man. Always will be. And I dread the day you finally realize that.”

“I think the exact opposite. I think you’re a good man who’s sometimes forced to do bad things. And I look forward to the day _you_ realize _that_.”

Arthur disagreed, but could think of nothing to say to that.

“What happened in the dream?,” Albert asked.

“Same thing happened both times. He’s just standing in front of me, staring me down, angry. He reaches for my gun and I shoot first,” Arthur explained. Albert hummed in thought.

“It sounds like you’re angry at yourself.”

“I am.”

“I think you should forgive yourself.”

Automatically the words fell out of Arthur’s mouth, “I don’t deserve to.”

Firmly, “Yes, you _do."_

“Don’t this bother you? I killed someone then spent a whole day pretendin' like I didn’t, like some kind of psychopath,” he asked.

“What I saw was you throwing your body at physical labor for twelve hours today. I know you well enough by now to recognize the bad days, so I left it alone. I thought you were just beating yourself up over what happened to me.”

“It was a little bit of that too…”

“Look… every time we’re out on the road like that we know something dangerous can happen. And we’ve been lucky for a long time, knock on wood,” stopping to knock on the bed stand next to him for effect, “but this time something happened. But you still protected me.”

“But you got _shot,"_ Arthur protested.

“And I lived to tell about it,” Albert dismissed. “I know you love to beat yourself up over your past, but what happened here was different. You weren’t the aggressor; we weren’t robbing them, it was the other way around.”

“I know but that still don’t make it right.”

“Would you rather he shot you? If he killed you, you know they would’ve finished me off right after.” Albert delivered the question coolly, and the premise sent an appropriately discomforting chill down Arthur’s spine.

“I just wish it went down different. Wish I could be a better man for you. Instead, you built your life around a killer.”

Albert responded in a saddened tone, “I wish you could see yourself as even half the man I know you to be. And I want you to know that I would rather spend my life with someone who would do anything to protect me than to have never had you at all.”

Despite letting that last point linger in the air they were both too exhausted to continue at that point. Arthur was thankful when Albert turned off the lamp soon afterwards and the only sounds in the room were the two of them shifting around, trying to find suitable sleeping positions again.

* * *

“May I borrow a shovel, Miss MacFarlane?”

It was an innocent enough question that Arthur asked towards the end of the work day, but he still dreaded asking it because the inevitable “Why?” that followed was harder to answer. When he explained, Bonnie was more understanding than he expected, but she insisted he take someone with him. Fate would have it that the only free man within earshot was Amos.

The two men rode out in silence; whether it was out of some sort of respect or reverence for the task ahead of them or out of an abundance of distrust on Amos’ part, Arthur didn’t know or care. He was merely thankful the other man had the courtesy to bring a shovel of his own to help out.

They found Eddie about an hour before sundown.

Arthur dismounted Ivy after hitching her to a nearby tree and Amos did the same with his own horse, but lingered back for a bit. Arthur approached the body on the ground and had to bat away some flies. Being left out in the New Austin heat for three days did no wonders for the condition of the corpse. If anyone had traveled out this way, they hadn’t stopped to move or even loot him it seems, but it would’ve been unavoidable to spot him; even in the fading daylight Arthur was ashamed to see how close the spot he’d picked was to the adjacent road.

Grisly state of the bottom half of his head notwithstanding, Eddie still appeared young. He’d commented on it himself, accusing Arthur of being old enough to be his father.

_Isaac would’ve been about his age now._

He banished that line of thinking instantly, going so far as to physically force his eyes shut in refusal. He knew nothing good would come of thinking about such things. Instead he straightened up from his squatting position as he heard Amos approach from behind.

“Young feller.” Arthur merely grunted in agreement. “Most of the Mercer Boys are it seems. Dunno if that’s intentional or not.”

Arthur scanned the nearby area. It was mostly flat with dry patches of dirt and occasional trees. “Where do you reckon’s a good spot?”

Amos took a wide berth around Eddie’s body on the ground before kicking a specific patch of dirt on the ground, on the opposite side of the tree Arthur had hidden behind. “Here should be good. Out of the way but also near the road. Should get around some of the bigger roots too.”

Arthur returned to Ivy, easily still within earshot, to retrieve his shovel. “Sounds like you know what you’re doing.”

Amos likewise came back to his mount to get his own shovel. “You don’t get to my age without having to bury a few folk, friend or foe. Surely I don’t gotta tell _you_ that.” It was the closest thing to a joke he’d ever heard the older man say, and Arthur wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

“Aw, come on, I ain’t _that_ old.”

“I don’t think I have that many years on you. If I had to wager to guess I’d say you’re… mid-to-late-forties?”

“Forty one,” Arthur grumbled. If Amos was trying to make a joke, he didn’t find it very funny. He pushed the spade tip into the ground with his foot as they got to work.

“That it? Bet you’ve had a harder life than most.”

“I had some rough patches, sure, hasn’t everyone?”

“My rough patches never had me carrying four guns around at all times.” Arthur struck his shovel into the ground in frustration at that.

“Look, you got something to say? Some kind of problem with me? You’ve been hidin’ in my shadow the past few days without saying so much as a word to me.”

Amos kept working on the hole like a parent waiting out a child’s tantrum. “No problem, just questions.”

“What kind of questions?” Amos paused after flinging some dirt to the side and raised a sarcastic eyebrow.

“Well the first one is, ‘can you talk and work at the same time?’”

 _Oh,_ now _he’s got a sense of humor._ Arthur frowned, but grabbed his shovel and got back to work. He didn’t want to waste daylight.

Amos continued, “I’m just curious how a man as well-armed as yourself can watch our ranch come under attack but do nothing to help. Are they just for show?”

He could go into dozens of stories of specific lives he’d taken with each of these guns, but that wasn’t necessarily a source of pride for Arthur. He’d have nothing to gain by trying to intimidate the older man either, and he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to. Unusually, the truth seemed to be the best option here.

“I know how to use ‘em. Maybe a little out of practice, but you never really forget how to shoot a gun.”

Amos hummed thoughtfully. “Well then the only other explanation I can think of is that you didn’t _want_ to help.” Arthur shook his head vigorously at that.

“Weren’t nothing like that, sir. Albert, my cousin? He had used up all the bullets in my Lancaster, and I forgot to reload when we got back to your ranch. By the time I realized that and could get into range to use something else, it was already over.”

They worked in silence a bit as Amos turned this new information over in his mind. For a while, the only sound were their shovels breaking dry soil and their own grunts and breaths.

Finally Amos spoke up, “Guess that makes sense, seeing as you’ve been helpin’ out ever since. I thought maybe you just wanted to see that Ben feller shot for some reason.”

“What? No, not at all. Though I’m not sure he believes me about that yet.”

“You said you knew him?” It was a loaded question, and Arthur had a hunch that Amos knew that. He had to choose his words carefully.

“Yeah, we go back, used to be friends years ago. Lost touch though and I thought he died. Turns out I was wrong.”

“How’d you two know each other?”

“Just acquaintances really,” Arthur shrugged. “He saved my life once in the middle of a shootout down in Lemoyne.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

“You find yourself gettin’ in shootouts often?”

“Not no more I don’t. ‘Cept for that business a few nights back, that was my first one in a long while. Was glad to have Bill on my side though, he was always good in a fight.”

“You mean ‘Ben’?”

_Dammit._

“Yeah. What’d I say?”

“I don’t remember,” Amos lied. The conversation died following that.

A few minutes later the grave was sufficiently deep and Arthur hauled himself out of the hole, giving Amos a hand to haul him out. He debated rifling through Eddie’s pockets for any valuables, but it seemed to be in poor taste; the whole reason he was doing this was to make peace with taking the young man’s life and robbing him after the fact seemed counterintuitive.

Amos had no qualms about the matter however. 

“Four bucks and some bullets.” When he saw the look Arthur was giving him, he said, “Ain’t like he’s gonna need it down there. Reckon it’s yours if you want it.”

“I don’t want it,” he mumbled. Arthur got into position at Eddie’s head and Amos grabbed his ankles after shoving the money into his own pocket. They shimmied over to the hole and lowered Eddie into it best they could. It was a sloppy, ramshackle affair, and Arthur forced himself not to think on the similarities to Dutch’s ignominious end.

“You wanna say anything?,” Amos asked. Arthur felt like he should, but this whole idea only came to him earlier in the day after deciding he’d had enough of three nights in a row with the same nightmare. He was never good with words anyway. They looked down into the grave and he tried his best.

“I guess… I’m sorry it had to be this way.” He had nothing else to add and just gave a dissatisfied shrug. Amos did a quick sign of the cross and wordlessly they agreed to begin filling in the hole.

Once that was done, Arthur merely gathered what few stones he could find into a meager cairn, cursing himself for the lack of foresight in not bringing a piece of wood, or anything really to mark the site. The sky was a rich purple and quickly getting darker when the two men stood back to observe the scene they’d created. It was the best they could do on short notice, and a better treatment than what most of Arthur’s victims ever received.

“Think we’re just about done here, you ready?” Amos clapped Arthur on the shoulder and returned to his horse. Arthur didn’t move however.

“Think I’ll hang back a bit. If Al asks, tell him not to worry about me, I won’t be long.” He could feel the older man’s eyes on the back of his neck, but for the first time it felt more like pity than suspicion.

“Sure thing. See you in the morning,” Amos responded with what Arthur assumed to be a deep sense of understanding. He mounted his horse and began heading back west to the ranch at a relaxed pace, leaving Arthur behind.

Because of a lifetime of difficulties and misfortunes, Arthur was no stranger to grief, but this was something new for him. Eddie was not a friend, was not someone he loved or respected or even knew. ‘Eddie’ could have been a made up name for all he knew, yet he felt uniquely regretful about ending this life in particular. Still, one of Arthur’s preferred coping mechanisms was speaking to the dead as if they could hear him, and he saw no reason not to fall back on that now.

“It’s done, Eddie. This is the best I can do for you.” He thumbed away the single tear before it threatened to fall and refused to shed any more after that. “Don’t bother me no more.”

* * *

Arthur did not dream of Eddie that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was one of those speed bump chapters where I wanted to slow things down for a bit and let everyone catch their breath. I also wanted to kind of show the passage of time and how Arthur has really changed since leaving the gang (he has changed, don’t listen to him). He’s not really a rootin’ tootin’ gunslinger anymore and I do think that taking a life like that would weigh on his mind a lot, especially after going five years without doing something like that. And especially considering the manner in which it happened.
> 
> Amos is another character that doesn’t have a ton to go off of in the source material, but I kind of aged him up here and imagined him as a more seasoned, grizzled ranch hand that from his point of view had (at least I think) a legitimate reason to keep a skeptical eye on Arthur.
> 
> Also, yes, the chapter count did jump from 10 to 22 and I believe that will climb yet again. Things are going to get buck wild later on, so enjoy these tender, quiet moments while they last.


	6. Two Dogs in the Desert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Albert have a difficult conversation before going to Armadillo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For other writers on here, anyone else notice that updates get way less engagement on weeknights compared to weekends? Or is that just my confirmation bias? Whatever, I'm too lazy to keep to a consistent schedule this time around; they'll go up when they go up. I will say however that pretty much every time I see a comment on my work I go, "neat!," and then immediately bang out like three or four paragraphs on the next chapter.
> 
> The first journal entry is from the same night the last chapter left off, but the first section after that begins five days after Eddie is buried.
> 
> _UPDATE- This chapter was updated for minor edits on 11/21/2020_

_8/29/04_

_I buried Eddie tonight. Maybe he’ll leave me alone now._

_[Sketch of a simple gravesite at the base of a tree.]_

* * *

Back up in Tall Trees the days were probably already getting cooler, but it seemed summer was taking its sweet time winding down in New Austin. Arthur ran the back of his free forearm across his brow in an effort to wick away some of the sweat and only succeeded in spreading it around. It was barely noon and already he was looking forward to taking a break from moving bales of hay across the ranch. He looked up and saw Bonnie making a beeline for him with a rigid gait and a concerned expression, and figured he should’ve been more careful for what he wished for.

“Arthur!,” she called out. He dropped the bale he was carrying under his arm and made a show of straightening out his stiffened back.

“Yes, Miss MacFarlane?”

“I told you to just call me ‘Bonnie.’”

“Yes, Miss Bonnie?”

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the flicker of a smile that accompanied it. “I need you to come get your cousin.”

“Did he get hurt?,” Arthur asked worriedly.

“No, but he brought out a camera and now all my boys are trying to show off for him. Knowing those knuckleheads, one of them is gonna end up hurting themselves.”

Relieved, “Yeah, that sounds like him. I’ll be over in a minute.”

“I’d ask him to stop myself, but my boys already think I’m a too much of a hard-ass on them.”

“I understand,” he chuckled.

They had been staying in the ranch’s guest house for a week and a day at this point and while Arthur was extremely thankful for Bonnie’s hospitality and repaid the favor twice over in physical labor, he couldn’t shake a sense of dread. He was running out of time to find Javier and his proposed meeting with John and Charles, and now possibly Bill, in Thieves’ Landing was only a few days away. Albert’s recovery was tantamount, of course, but those sleepless nights provided ample time to think of how scared Jack must be or how distraught Abigail was at having her son ripped from her life.

First he apparently had to put an end to a photo shoot however.

He came around to the larger of the two corrals and saw Albert with his left arm cradled in a makeshift sling made from what looked to be an old shirt. He was set up with his tripod on the outside looking in at some of the hands in a pen.

“You ready Mister Mason?,” one of them called out.

“Ready when you are!,” Albert shouted back.

“Three, two, one!” The gate of the pen was thrown open and a bull came charging out before pivoting and violently kicking in circles trying to buck off the man on its back. He seemed to be having difficulty staying upright despite the encouragement shouted to him by his fellow hands. Arthur heard the familiar _click_ of Albert’s camera without the flashbulb about two seconds before the man was thrown to the hard ground and had the wind knocked out of him.

“That should come out quite well…,” Albert mused in a pleased tone to himself as he straightened his posture.

“Havin’ fun, ‘cousin’?” Predictably, Albert startled at Arthur’s louder-than-necessary interruption from behind. Within an instant recognition turned to relief, then turned to irritation.

“I hate when you call me that,” he muttered.

“It was your idea,” Arthur mumbled back teasingly. They both looked into the corral and some of the boys had lassoed the bull and were trying to wear it out at one end of the clearing. The rider still hadn’t gotten to his feet and was having his head cradled by his usual work partner at his side, but at least he was moving.

“Oh my, I think he got really hurt…”

“This is why Bonnie sent me over here. How’d this get started, anyway?,” Arthur asked and Albert pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’m going absolutely _stir-crazy_ in that guest house all day and I don’t want to keep bothering Miss MacFarlane to keep me company. Figured I might as well get some shots for this new project I’m working on. Some of the hands noticed me, then... one thing led to another I guess.”

Finally the rider was dragged to his feet by his partner and they carefully walked out of the pen, holding onto each other. Albert winced and no doubt felt a little responsible.

“Alright, fellows, I think that’s all I need for today!,” Albert cried and waved. He began disassembling his setup with his one good arm and Arthur wordlessly took over, having seen Albert do it enough times that he could do it himself.

The ranch hand that had opened the pen door complained, “Aww, I didn’t get to go!”

“Perhaps tomorrow, Daniel,” Albert added with a chuckle. Then, to Arthur, “Are you free to walk me back to the house?”

“For you? Always.” Albert rolled his eyes, but was thankful for the company. Arthur could spare a few minutes before getting back to where he left off before Bonnie’s interruption.

They entered the guest house and Arthur delicately set the camera bag at the foot of the sole bed in the room. Albert took a seat and gently tried raising his still-bandaged left shoulder to see how high he could move it before wincing.

“How’s it feeling?”

“Better than it was, certainly, but it’s only been a little over a week…”

“Maybe it’s worth trying to see the doctor again?” Albert shrugged with his good shoulder.

“I don’t know what he’d be able to tell me. I’ve been keeping the bandages fresh and clean and the stitches are holding. I think I should be able to ride in a day or two if I’m extremely careful.”

“Well let’s try to avoid any more shootouts on the way to Armadillo,” Arthur joked. He turned to exit the room and get back to work but Albert stopped him.

“What? Armadillo?”

He was halfway through the door when he halted and turned around. “Yeah, that’s where we’re going next.” Albert looked incredulous.

“Arthur… I was _shot._ I want to go _home."_ There was confusion and desperation and not an unnoticeable amount of fear in his voice. It all combined into something that made Arthur uncomfortable.

“Already? I said I’d take you west though.”

“We can go later, in a few months when I’m properly healed.” Then, more to himself, _"_ _if_ it heals.”

“We can’t go home.” Arthur didn’t mean for it to come out so forcefully, but it did, and it was too late to take it back. At this, Albert leveled a serious, almost angry glare at him.

Pointing a finger at Arthur, “You’re hiding something from me.”

“No I’m not,” Arthur lied too quickly. He debated just running out the door and hiding behind Bonnie the rest of the day to avoid this conversation.

“Ever since I caught you and John pummeling each other out in the woods you’ve been acting strange. And you _still_ never told me what that fight was about, or why you were so far from the house.”

Albert was one of the smartest men Arthur knew, it was one of the reasons he loved him so much. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep things hidden from him forever, but Arthur really believed he could’ve at least found Javier and gotten everyone to meet up at Thieves’ Landing before having to tell Albert the true reason they were on this trip.

“It was just… just some old memories he brought up. People I don’t like to think about. He upset me is all.”

Albert folded his hands in his lap and looked down at them, pensively. The sudden diffusion of his anger confused Arthur. Very carefully, Albert asked, “Was he talking about Eliza and Isaac?”

Arthur froze. His brain could scarcely process what it had just heard.

After a healthy pause, “Did John tell you?” Albert shook his head.

“Mary did.”

Someone told a joke outside and the distant laughter was the only sound that found its way into the guest house for almost half a minute.

Eventually, Albert continued, “The night before my speech, you went to bed early. I stayed up in the kitchen to make my final edits and Mary came down and spent some time with me. She asked me about my ring and _us._ I told her about that night under the falling stars.

“I also told her about our alibis, about how we were both pretending to be widowers, in case anyone ever asked about the rings. My imaginary Hannah, who died of cholera in ‘98, and your wife Eliza and son Isaac who were killed in a robbery when you weren’t home.”

Albert finally lifted his head and looked Arthur in the eyes.

“She told me that wasn’t a story you made up.”

It wasn’t a story Arthur had told many people in his life. But Mary _had_ been one of them.

“Al,” he started with an uneven voice that threatened to break, “I _really_ do not want to talk about this right now.”

“We don’t have to. I just want to know if that’s what you and John fought about.”

It wasn’t the whole reason, but it was true enough. Arthur nodded his head and stared at the floor feeling as numb and out of breath as the bull rider had been a few minutes before.

“Then I understand wanting a change of scenery to distract yourself for a few days.”

“I was gonna tell you one day…” Arthur truly didn’t know if that was a lie or not. Albert slid off the edge of the bed and closed the gap between them and pulled Arthur into a one-armed embrace. He returned the hug with both arms, propping the door open with a foot as his chest threatened to betray him and begin heaving with emotion. Whether it was because of the memory of his one-time family, the shame he felt at having never told Albert about them, a combination thereof or something else entirely, he couldn’t say.

He could feel Albert’s chest vibrate against his own when he said, “It’s okay, love. I’m not mad at you.” Arthur sighed and wanted to pull Albert in closer at that, but the other man abruptly stood back and separated from him, looking aghast at something behind Arthur. He quickly snapped his head around looking for a new threat and found Bonnie watching through the open doorway only a few feet away.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” she apologized with a wave of her hand. “I was just coming to see if I could borrow Arthur for something over by the stables.”

“Of course, he’s all yours,” Albert replied sheepishly.

“Take your time, there ain’t no rush. Don’t wanna get in the way of a family moment.” She smiled and turned away back towards some new commotion that was happening on the other side of the ranch. Arthur and Albert looked at each other in confusion.

“Perhaps we should leave tomorrow,” Albert conceded.

“That’s probably a good idea…”

* * *

_9/3/04_

_[Sketch of a man riding a bucking bull. Caption reads, “A bigger fool than me."]_

* * *

“We weren’t actually married, you know.”

Thus began a difficult conversation. Arthur finally decided to stop pretending to be working on the sketch on the floor. Albert decided to stop pretending to read a book in the dim light of the gas lantern in that cramped room that felt smaller with each passing night. _That_ was when a conversation that should’ve happened years before finally began.

Arthur spoke of the night twenty three years earlier when he met Eliza, a waitress at a bar somewhere out in Oregon. Back when the fledgling Van der Linde gang operated in the northwest. After a night of mindless fun Arthur thought nothing of her until the next time the gang passed through and saw that she was fully pregnant, due any day.

She didn’t begrudge him and they remained amicable but not romantic towards each other. There was no hope for a meaningful relationship with the way Arthur lived and they both knew and accepted that. Still, he would make regular trips out to see the pair whenever he could, bringing money and gifts as if that could make up for his absence.

When Isaac was old enough to walk and talk on his own, he didn’t question the arrangement, and was always happy to see Arthur, almost as much as he was to see Isaac. He wasn’t sure if Isaac truly understood what they were to each other, and that Arthur wasn’t just some random man who showed up unannounced from time to time with presents. But he was thankful that Isaac didn’t seem to hate him.

Isaac was four and Arthur was twenty-two the last time they saw each other.

It had taken him three days of traveling alone to leave the gang’s then-current hideout back to Eliza’s home. He was carrying a miniature fishing rod to gift to Isaac so they could continue practicing fishing from their previous encounter. All he was met with were two wooden crosses driven into the ground outside the house and a terrible story he corroborated between several neighbors before he could believe it.

Albert listened studiously, only peppering in occasional questions when he was genuinely confused about something. But he yielded control of the painful conversation over to Arthur the entire time, letting the man go at his own pace.

“The worst part…” Arthur sniffed; he had been holding it together at this point, but the swell of emotions he was holding back threatened to crash down on him at any moment. “I wasn’t so good at sketchin’ yet, and we didn’t have money to go to a photographer.”

He swallowed deeply to try and get the next words out that Albert already knew where coming.

“Al… I can’t even remember their faces no more.”

At no point had Albert even tried making an attempt to fight back his own tears that were freely falling at this point. He reached forward on the bed they were both sitting on and gently rubbed his husband’s back.

“That doesn’t mean you loved them any less.”

Arthur didn’t stand a chance at keeping his composure after that. There were no more words of substance exchanged that night.

* * *

He was no architect, but Arthur was skeptical that the front porch of the main house could hold that much weight at once. He was pleasantly surprised to see the wood not buckle underneath the entire staff of the ranch as they posed together for Albert’s camera.

“Everyone ready?” His question was met with a chorus of affirmations and shortly after a countdown his flashbulb went off. A round of cheers let out as some of the hands rushed forward to inspect the back of Albert’s camera.

“How’d it come out?”

“Well I’m not sure yet, I’ll have to develop it,” Albert explained.

“How long’ll that take?,” another young man asked. Albert had to turn to his left to answer the new question.

“Up to a day, but I need access to a studio or at least a dark room first.”

“Okay, fellers, leave the guy alone,” Amos ordered as he stepped down from the porch. Dutifully, the small crowd began to disperse and go back to their daily chores. It was early, only two or three hours after sunrise, and Albert had wanted to give Bonnie and her staff a portrait in thanks before they set out on the road.

Arthur felt exhausted down to his very core, not only from working the day before but also from just being emotionally drained after willfully dredging up memories he had spent years trying to bury. He felt better finally getting it off his chest and coming clean to Albert, but there was a tacit understanding that they would not be discussing the matter further; it was just too painful. Fatigue aside, he was ready to get going and finally spend a night somewhere other than that hot wooden box of a guest house.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be alright to ride like that, Albert?,” Bonnie asked as she also approached.

“Oh I think I’ll be fine, Miss Bonnie. Penny, my horse? She’s a lazy old thing, and she’s not particularly fast or easy to spook.”

She rolled her eyes at the cheeky use of ‘Miss Bonnie’ that he no doubt picked up from Arthur, but continued, “That’s the brown Morgan that’s been hitched around the back?”

Albert smiled. “The very same. You can say I have a preference for riding Morgans.”

Arthur turned his head to cough.

Thankfully, the comment went over her head, but Arthur decided he would strangle Albert for it later. “You two really are a bunch of characters, and my boys are gonna miss you. You’re always welcome here if you ever pass on by again,” Bonnie said as she pulled Albert in for a careful hug.

“A thousand thank yous. And I will make sure to mail several prints of this picture to you as soon as I can.”

“I _am_ gonna miss having someone that actually knows how to put in a full day’s work. Wish the boys picked that up from you,” Amos said as he shook Arthur’s hand.

“Nah, they’re fine. Don’t be so hard on ‘em, old man.”

“Sure. If you’re headin’ into town, say hi to Doctor Johnston and Ben for me. Or was it ‘Bill?’”

Arthur simply met the question with narrowed eyes at the older man. Amos had relented on shadowing Arthur’s every move since burying Eddie, but they both knew the full story wasn’t out in the open. The old man couldn’t pass up the opportunity at one last dig it seemed.

Another round of goodbyes and a few minutes later the two men were on the road, heading west and putting their temporary home in the distance behind them. Albert had needed help getting up on top of Penny, but once he was balanced in his saddle he was fine. They took a relaxed pace through the part of the state known to locals as Hennigan’s Stead, observing how the sparse tree cover soon gave way to dry earth and a harsh open sky. If nothing else, they had plenty of daylight and ample sight lines to any would-be robbers that would approach. Not that they saw many people at all out on their journey to Armadillo; Arthur explained that most people came to the town by train.

“Take a train? And what, miss all this beauty?,” Albert asked, gesturing at their drab and brown surroundings. Were it anyone else, Arthur would’ve taken it for sarcasm, but he knew the photographer truly meant what he said.

“Not everyone gets excited over some cacti and lizards, Al. Speaking of, you’re not gonna make us stop to take pictures all day are you?”

From on top of Penny to Arthur’s right, he shook his head. “No, I figured we’d be taking a slow pace today anyway, but I still would like to avoid sleeping outdoors tonight. I’ll try my best to soldier on.”

“Maybe we should’ve stayed back there one more night for your arm. Although I didn’t wanna risk nothing, what with Bonnie catching us yesterday like that…,” he trailed off. Albert took on a pensive expression at that.

“That was a rather odd encounter. The more I think back on it though, the more I think _we_ were the ones that overreacted.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well remember what she said? She said, ‘I don’t want to interrupt a _family moment._ I think she fully believed our alibi if I’m being honest.”

“Ain’t never seen cousins be _that_ friendly and call each other _love..."  
_

“Neither have I, so either she’s extremely progressive for staffing her entire property with deviants, or she’s simply not aware of the concept. And I’m not sure why, but I’m inclined to believe it’s the latter.” There was a short lull in the conversation as Arthur tried to parse what he’d just heard.

“Wait, what do you mean, ‘deviants?’” Albert glanced over at him, equally confused, before focusing back on the road.

“I mean, all those ranch hands were... well... men like _us."_

“Really?”

“Did you not realize?”

Several things clicked into place at once for Arthur. Why Bonnie didn’t so much as flinch when they interrupted Bill and Nate’s intimate moment that first night. Her insistence on only hiring unwed young men because she believed they ‘made for better workers.’ Why all the hands always worked together in the same pairs every day. Why each pair had a separate shack they slept in with their work partners. How quickly they all took a liking to Arthur. Why the man from yesterday was so concerned when his partner was hurt from being thrown off the bull. A flurry of other strange jokes and comments the boys made over the past week that went over Arthur’s head at first now made sense in this new context.

“I… no, guess I didn’t.”

“Hmm. Sometimes I forget you don’t have as much experience as I do in looking for the signs. I figured it out on the third day.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I thought you knew!” Albert didn’t strike a defensive tone, rather it was more jovial and he was ribbing Arthur at his expense. Arthur knew it, but suddenly didn’t feel like he was in much of a joking mood. There was a twinge of some new feeling in the pit of his stomach that he didn’t like at all. He always knew Albert had been with other men before him, but it wasn’t something he liked to think about for some reason.

“I ain’t _exactly_ like you, Al. You’re the only man I’ve ever been with.”

“I know. No, you’re right, it’s not fair of me to expect you to be tuned in to a secret culture I spent years figuring out.” Seeing that Arthur was still skulking over something that was going left unsaid, Albert continued, “I don’t hold it against you, you know.”

“Hold what against me?”

“You not being ‘exactly’ like me; you being with women in the past. I don’t think it makes your love for me any less valid.”

It was strange to speak of such matters of the heart so openly, even if they were alone in a literal desert. Arthur knew what he felt for Albert was love, and that there was genuine attraction; lord knows there were no issues once they were behind closed doors. But it was still a unique situation in that Arthur had never pursued other men before Albert. There were men he was attracted to, sure, but he could only recognize and name those feelings now, years after the fact. After he had learned that two men being together was even an option, discrete as it was.

Still, it was a nice sentiment to hear.

“Well thank you for sayin' that.”

“My pleasure. Besides, I’m glad we’re different. Could you even imagine a second me? Almost identical in every way?”

“The whole country woulda been turned into a nature preserve by now. Man would be outnumbered by bears and wolves.”

“Oh stop-“

“Bet you they’d have _us_ in cages!”

“Okay, now you’re just being rude,” Albert accused through a smile.

Thankfully the mood lightened up again and even if the conversation petered out at times, Albert did what he did best and spoke enough for the two of them for the rest of the way to the distant town.

* * *

For some reason the universe decided to exact its karma on Arthur for all of his evil deeds in very specific ways. Some days his shoulder would ache for no discernible reason where a bear had once sunk its teeth into his flesh. He had never once, ever, won a game of dominoes.

And he could never book a room without catching an attitude it seems.

“Look I just want one room!”

“And I’m sayin’ I don’t like the look of you!” Some of the other patrons at the bar to either side of Arthur began casting not-so-subtle glances at the new commotion, no doubt eager to catch some free entertainment.

“What, my money’s no good here?”

“Doubt you even have enough,” the bartender shot back.

“Try me. Name your price, pal,” he dared.

“Six bucks for a night.” Arthur promptly removed his money clip from his pocket, counted out six singles and slammed them down on the wet counter, challenging the man. The bartender eyed them suspiciously, but didn’t take them. “How do I know they’re real?”

“You are impossible. You know what? Forget it!” Arthur grabbed his money back and stomped away from the bar and a smattering of chuckles behind his back. He came out the front, finding Albert rummaging through Penny’s saddlebags at the hitching post. He looked up confused at the storm on Arthur’s face.

“Everything alright?”

“Couldn’t get a room, guy said I was too ‘shifty-looking.’” He caught Albert giving him a quick glance from head to toe and the slight frown he failed to stifle.

“Well your clothes could certainly use a wash, but that’s hardly fair of him to judge you like that. Let me try.”

“Be my guest,” Arthur mumbled, holding out the six dollars for Albert to take. The other man went into the saloon and Arthur was left alone to muse about how were he a younger man, he would have decked the bartender and just taken the room for himself. He didn’t have long to dwell on the hypothetical however, as Albert exited back out into the clear night air with a key not thirty seconds later.

“We’re in room three,” Albert stated simply. Arthur caught the slight air of smugness in the delivery, but simply met it with a huff and a head shake. He was just happy to not have to worry about dealing with Mercer Boys that night. Albert grabbed his camera bag and Arthur grabbed both of their satchels and wished the horses a good night. As the two men climbed the stairs up to the second floor balcony that looked into the saloon’s main space, Arthur made it a point to glare at the bartender, who noticed and gave it right back to him. Albert counted out the numbers of the rooms as he passed them and stopped at the right door before inserting the key and unlocking the handle. He opened the door and they were met with an unusual sight.

There were two beds.

“Huh…,” was all Albert could manage. “When was the last time _that_ happened?” Arthur peeked his head in to assess the situation and understood immediately what Albert was referring to.

“Reckon that’s the first time.” 

“The world really is changing these days.” Albert entered the room and set his camera bag down on the bed that was further away from the door, closer to the window. “I’m calling this one for myself.”

“Suit yourself,” Arthur chuckled as he closed the door behind him. “You don’t wanna push ‘em together?”

“That’d be quite indecent, no? I’ll remind you that I’m a married man,” Albert teased.

“Oh, well _excuse me,_ Mister Mason.”

“Hang tight in here for a bit, I’m going downstairs to see about something. Don’t get too comfortable though.”

Bemused but obedient, Arthur laid down on ‘his’ bed and stretched out, but kept his boots on and hanging over the edge so the spurs wouldn’t catch on the sheets. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and honestly could have fallen asleep right there, rowdy crowd and live music just outside notwithstanding. It wasn’t long before Albert returned to the room however and closed the door behind him.

“Ten dollars! Ten dollars for a _bath,_ can you believe that?”

“I don’t know if you noticed on the ride in, but we’re in the middle of a desert.”

“Oh, spare me.”

“Just sayin’, every drop counts out here.” Albert sat on the edge of Arthur’s bed with a forced sigh and spoke with an air of feigned sadness.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe this wild west life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” Arthur couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, when I said that, _this_ was the situation I was thinking about.”

“Well I asked the staff to run me one anyway. And I do know one thing.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“I don’t feel like paying that rude man _twenty_ dollars.” Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Arthur thought he was picking up on a suggestion.

“Me neither. We both could go for a bath though.”

Now removing all doubt from his mind, “Maybe you should join me in mine. I could use the help anyway.” They met each other with mischievous smiles. It was risky, but it wasn’t anything they hadn’t done before during stays in Saint Denis and Valentine.

“The doctor said you should avoid ‘strenuous activity’,” Arthur warned.

Dripping with innuendo Albert responded, “Then you’ll have to do everything for me. And I know you’re good with your hands.”

“What has gotten _into_ you?” He wasn’t dismissive towards Albert, but more curious and excited than anything.

“At the end of the day I’m still just a man. And perhaps some of my needs haven’t been seen to in a while.” It was hard not to notice Albert’s hand traveling up Arthur’s thigh. Not that he was going to stop it.

“You are a dog in heat, that’s what you are.”

“Oh? And what’s that make you?” Arthur’s grin widened.

“Guess I’m a dog too… We can’t go down at the same time though. You go on ahead, I’ll sneak in a little after you.”

“Don’t wait too long,” Albert pleaded. He left the room and Arthur stayed on the bed, suddenly cognizant of a need of his own he’d been neglecting during their stay at the MacFarlane’s ranch. Not that he’d been in a good headspace the past few nights to do anything about it, but life has to go on eventually, right?

After what he deemed to be a sensible sixty seconds Arthur adjusted himself for decency’s sake and left the room, locking it with the key Albert left behind. From the second floor vantage point he could get a good view of the venue below him. It was late and the crowd was certainly past its peak for the night, but it was still lively. On top of the ambient noise of people speaking, the piano player was certain to make it difficult for anyone to be going to sleep so long as he was playing. Despite being a man on a mission, Arthur still eavesdropped out of habit on a myriad of different conversations that were happening in the large room as he came down the stairs. Some local drama, some drunken nonsense, even some Spanish he couldn’t make out. But his ears perked up at the name “Mercer.”

“Half a day’s ride from here-“

“Yeah, _I know where it is."_

Like a hungry wolf stalking prey Arthur immediately honed his eyes and ears in on the source. Three young men huddled at the far end of the bar, flush against the wall by the door. The one in the middle looked to be hemmed in on both sides and not wanting to have this conversation at all.

“So are you gonna come?”

“I said I’ll think about it,” the middle one complained.

“You said that last time.”

“And I’m _still_ thinkin’ about it!”

Arthur slid up close, but not too close, to this trio and tried flagging down the bartender, who predictably found a very good reason to wander to the complete opposite end of the bar at that exact moment. At least he wouldn’t have to rely on his poor acting skills to appear disgruntled.

“Why’re you gettin’ all pissy about it? We’re makin’ good money and it’s not like we’re gonna get caught.”

“I just don’t know if I’m cut out for that stuff, alright?,” the middle man explained. “And I told my Pa I’d help out more around the shop-“ His two companions groaned instantly.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna follow in your old man’s steps? Ain’t nothing happening in this town, Pete. But you could make something of yourself with the Mercer Boys. We’d put in a good word for you.”

Arthur leaned against the counter with his back to this conversation, trying again to flag down the bartender who had resorted to picking his fingernails with great interest. Behind him, it sounded like the middle man was considering his friends’ proposal.

“I don’t… I don’t gotta kill no one, do I?”

“Not if you don’t want to. But you already have a gun, right? That’s better than most of the guys that come crawling up to the front gate begging to come in.”

“Yeah, but it’s just a shitty old revolver… It’s not like I look like _this_ guy…”

Arthur could feel three sets of eyes pass over his Lancaster and shotgun slung across his back. In retrospect he probably should have left them back up in the room to avoid drawing too much attention to himself. He tried his best not to react.

“He’s a little old though,” one of the men whispered as they turned back towards each other. “Too set in his ways. The boss wouldn’t want him.”

 _"You_ though, you’d fit right in.”

The middle man, Pete, apparently, took some time to mull it over as his two friends remembered about their drinks. Finally he perked up, “How many Mercer Boys are there? Are they really still looking to bring on more people like me?”

The friend who was closer to Arthur blew air through his teeth. “Dunno, maybe thirty or forty? Lot of boys join up for only a week or two before running away like cowards but there’s a decent-sized core of regulars.” Arthur couldn’t help but pull a face. Even at their peak the Van der Linde gang was never quite that large. This sounded similar to the O’Driscoll operation. But how had he never heard of these Mercer Boys? He only lived one state over.

“Well if you don’t come with us, don’t just walk up to the fort alone, you’ll get shot,” one of the Mercer Boys explained.

“What do I do then?,” Pete asked nervously. They leaned in close, but probably because of the influence of alcohol, forgot to actually lower their voices.

“You gotta wave a green flag. That’s the sign that you’re a recruit, that someone invited you.”

“I don’t have a flag-“

“Well just use a shirt or something then-“

“You _should_ come back with us though. Come on, we’re heading out tomorrow.”

“I don’t know…”

The rest of the talk behind him just seemed to have the three young men talking in circles around each other with Pete still being reluctant to join his two buddies. Arthur listened for maybe half a minute more before making a show of pushing away from the counter, loudly muttering something about “shit service,” and hoped the act was convincing enough.

Walking back to the other end of the bar, Arthur locked eyes with the bartender and they mean-mugged each other without saying anything; there was no point in giving the man a reason to toss him out of the establishment. Instead, Arthur continued past him to the small hallway underneath the staircase and found the door to the bath room. He knocked on it gently and entered upon hearing Albert’s voice inviting him in. Whatever residual thoughts about Mercer Boys or a rude bartender were floating at the top of Arthur’s mind, they vanished in an instant in favor of something much more carnal.

“About time.”

Arthur wedged a chair under the door knob for good measure.

“So what’s this about your ‘preference for riding Morgans?’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a dialogue-heavy chapter, but I'm a dialogue-heavy writer so let's not be surprised. You guys seem to enjoy the banter anyway. I just can't stand writing huge blocks of exposition because it always comes out like: "and then this happened, and then this happened, and then this-" Kudos to you guys that can actually make big walls of text interesting.
> 
> There was supposed to be one more scene from the following morning tacked onto the end of this one, but these chapters are already getting quite long and I'm reaching the, "oh no, this is gonna be /long/" stage of realization. Fully expect that chapter count to go up before the end of this.
> 
> The conversation about Eliza and Isaac might've come off as rushed, but we can only read so many iterations of it and these past few chapters have been kind of downers, so I wanted to bring things (temporarily) back into more light-hearted territory.
> 
> There are also some running gags I wanted to bring forward from Summer of '99. If you see anything even remotely resembling a hotel clerk, assume Arthur is going to have a difficult time with them. Also I recognize that "There Was Only One Bed™" is a UNESCO World Heritage Trope, but subverting it was fun here. Meta? Maybe, but I'm writing this for my own amusement after all.
> 
> For anyone who cares, we're four in-fiction days away from the proposed meeting at Thieves' Landing.


	7. Second Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur tries to find a lead on Javier and discovers something uncomfortable instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a browser add-on for AO3 that lets you see works by word count but also by an estimated page count as if it were a physical book. Summer of '99 is apparently 370 pages long, and I'm just here realizing I typed out an entire goddamn book on my cellphone and I'm in the middle of doing it a second time.
> 
> This chapter picks up the morning after where the previous chapter left off.
> 
> _UPDATE- This chapter was updated for minor edits on 11/22/2020_

Perched atop a splintered, wooden cross that looked like it was going to fall over any day now sat a big, ugly brute of a vulture, baking in the harsh daylight. From this angle with the poorly-maintained church under it, it seemed more like an ill omen or the grim reaper watching over the parish than a wild animal.

_Click_

The vulture cast a lazy, cautionary glance at the duo, as if even this predator who was built for the desert was enervated by the high noon sun. It did not stir or leave its spot however.

“Clap.”

“What?”

“Clap. Or whistle, just do something to startle it,” Albert whispered. Confused but obedient, Arthur, gave two loud claps with his hands.

“Yah! Get!” He definitely had the bird’s attention now, but from this distance of about forty feet, it didn’t feel the need to fly off just yet. This was easily within range of Arthur’s Volcanic pistol however. Albert finally looked back from his lens just as Arthur was removing the gun from his holster.

“No! What are you _doing?,"_ he urged in a hushed voice.

Also keeping his voice down, “You want it out of the shot, right?”

“No, I want a shot of it mid-takeoff!”

Re-holstering his gun, “Well how the hell was I supposed to know that?” It was a ridiculous sight, two grown men ducking behind a stone wall and bickering in whispers as if they were genuinely afraid of this twenty-pound bird staring them down. At least they were alone, on the outskirts of town where the locals wouldn’t cast questioning glances at them.

“Oh come on, you’ve watched me do this a million times, you know how I like to set up my shots.”

“Reckon I can do it better, too…,” Arthur grumbled. He was sweating through his clothes, already negating the benefit last night’s bath. Not that either of them had focused too hard on actually getting clean while they were in the tub, but still.

“Well maybe at the end of this trip you can buy your own camera,” Albert chided.

“Maybe I _will!,"_ he pouted back. It was the heat that was making them testy towards each other, and they would cool off once they, well, _cooled off._ But the suggestion dug up an old memory for Arthur. He _did_ have a small handheld camera at one point, given to him by that strange author in Valentine. The only picture he ever took with it was of a dead Billy Midnight.

_Never did get around to those other three names. And where did that camera end up?_

“Are you listening to me?”

Snapping back to the present in confusion, “What?”

“I said throw a rock at it,” Albert hissed. Arthur sighed and scanned the ground at his feet, easily finding a suitable candidate at his feet. He picked it up and got into position kneeling on one knee.

“You ready?” Albert tweaked a dial on his camera one final time.

“Ready.”

Arthur reeled his arm back and flung the stone forward, hitting the face of the church just a few feet under the vulture’s talons. Consequently, the startled animal squawked in irritation and spread its wings wide in preparation for taking off. That was precisely when Albert’s camera gave another quiet _click_ as he took another picture without the flash.

 _“Perfect._ That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Arthur watched the bird pick up speed and altitude as it flew off.

“Not at all. Makes me wonder why you even need me out here...” There was just a touch more attitude than he intended in the delivery, but he _would_ rather be inside than following Albert around town like a guard dog, getting cooked out in the sun. They both straightened up from their crouched position behind the stone wall and dusted off their knees.

“If you’ve got something else to do, by all means, don’t let me stop you. I’m just going to stay within the town limits for today. Might even take a break soon so I don’t bake out here,” Albert said as he took off his straw boater hat to briefly fan his face with it.

“Can I trust you not to get into too much trouble?”

Albert feigned taking offense at the accusation. “When have I ever caused trouble?”

“Just… ask for permission before takin’ someone’s picture, alright? I don’t wanna repeat of Saint Denis.”

Donning his hat back on, “Are you telling me you wouldn’t assault a rich banker to defend my honor again?” Arthur’s silent glare in response subdued Albert. Nevertheless he muttered, “I still don’t think I was in the wrong there, but I take your point… Fine, I’ll meet you back in the room later.”

While he began walking back to the saloon Arthur lingered on the memory two years back of fist-fighting a man who just _looked_ like he had ten times the money Arthur ever did. It was Albert’s fault things escalated as quickly as they did, but Arthur would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy laying the man out, even if they had to flee the city to avoid lawmen for a few days. Hopefully the photographer would behave himself today and they wouldn’t be kicked out of town before-

_Before I find Javier._

He had no leads. After almost a week and a half of ‘searching’, he wasn’t sure if his old friend was even still alive. He was supposed to meet John and Charles in Thieves’ Landing in three days and he had nothing to show for it. Well, he found Bill, but that was purely an accident.

_Bill…_

Bill was the last one who’d seen Javier alive. And whatever bad blood there was between those two men, it was probably safer to pick his brain one last time before Arthur went around town and started name-dropping a former member of one of the most infamous gangs of the past thirty years. As luck would have it, Arthur found himself at that moment in front of a small green building advertising itself as the General Practice of a particular “Doctor Nathanial Johnston.”

Figuring it couldn’t hurt to try, he pushed on the door to enter and was met with the ringing of a small bell overhead. He stepped into what appeared to be a small, empty waiting room with wooden benches lining the walls. Opposite the front door was a high counter with shelves stocked with dozens of small glass bottles on the wall behind it. Doctor Johnston quickly folded a newspaper and stood up from his seat out of view as Arthur gently closed the door behind him and took in the cooler air of the room.

“Welcome. Is there anything I can- Oh, it’s you!”

Arthur gave a friendly smile and tipped his hat as he strode up to the counter. “Doctor Johnston.”

“Oh, please, no need to be so formal. ‘Doctor _Nate’_ will suffice,” he winked. They shook hands and Arthur chuckled.

“Arthur Mason.”

“I remember. Was that always your name?” Nate cocked a playful eyebrow at the question. Arthur rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.

“It’s a long story, that.”

Nate batted a hand away at the air, “I know, I’m just teasing. Ben filled me in last week.”

“Man, it is weird hearing you call him that. Is that what you always call him?” Nate shrugged nonchalantly.

“Of course. That’s how he introduced himself to me; once he managed to empty enough blood out of his lungs to speak, that is. He didn’t tell me the truth until almost two years later, but I wasn’t about to start calling him ‘Bill’ after all that time; that name sounds just as strange to me.”

“Well his real name is ‘Marion’, but he always hated that.” Arthur meant it as an off-handed comment, but judging by the way Nate’s eyebrows shot up, this was new information.

 _“Marion?”_ Nate looked like he was about to start laughing inappropriately.

“Oh, did you not know that? Listen, you did _not_ hear that from me, he’ll actually shoot me if he finds out.”

Nate threw his hands up in concession, “Of course, of course. And how is your… _cousin,_ was he?”

Out of habit when talking about such matters, Arthur quickly glanced over his shoulder. “We’re only cousins when we need to be…,” he explained in a low voice.

“That’s clever. No, I understand. But I meant how’s his shoulder holding up?”

“It’s still attached and didn’t turn black, so I reckon he’ll be fine.”

“Sometimes that’s the best we can hope for,” Nate smiled before snapping back into his normal role. “So! What brings you into my shop today? Can I interest you in some tonics?” He twisted his torso to gesture at all the small bottles on display behind him.

“Actually I was hoping to find… Ben.”

Nate’s smile faltered.

“Unfortunately he’s not here; I gave him the day off because I had no appointments scheduled that required him.”

“That’s alright, you know where can I find him?”

Nate slowly turned his body to face Arthur and calmly folded his hands together on the counter. His expression suddenly grew deeply serious.

“Mister Mason, if I may, what exactly are your intentions with my assistant?”

Arthur was momentarily caught off guard. “What did he tell you?” Nate studied him for a moment before beginning.

“He told me someone from his past was looking for him. Someone violent and dangerous. And I understand a child has been kidnapped and a group of you survivors are getting together to do something about it, but I want you to understand something.” He jabbed a finger in Arthur’s face, “I don’t want my Ben getting wrapped up into _any_ of this. He’s closed that chapter of his life and he’s in _no_ condition to be getting in gunfights with Pinkertons. Not anymore.”

Arthur was impressed at this sudden gusto Nate was displaying. It wasn’t every day a man openly flaunting four guns got threatened like this. Mentally he disagreed though; if that first night on Bonnie’s ranch taught him anything it was that now Bill was a better fighter than Arthur was.

“You this protective of all your patients?,” he asked light-heartedly, but Nate wasn’t having it.

“I’m serious. He barely survived being abandoned by you lot. And as much as he wants to help you for whatever reason, I’m not letting him go.” Arthur drew his brows together defensively.

“‘Abandoned?’ Now hold on, I didn’t even know Bill was gonna survive another week! Hell, I didn’t even know if _I_ was gonna make it out at the end. But you’re makin’ it sound like we were _tryin’_ to kill him. That weren’t the case.”

“Then why did I find him alone on the side of the road with one foot in the grave?,” Nate challenged.

“Look, I don’t got a good answer for that, but this boy that’s been kidnapped? He’s my nephew. And I promised my brother we’d find a way to get him back. And I’m not gonna turn down any help that I can get.”

The bell rang behind Arthur. He quickly twisted around to see a very old man shuffling in and patiently forming a one-man line behind Arthur. Nate relaxed and waved at him.

“Mister Brown! I’ll be with you in just a moment.” Then, quietly to just Arthur, “I meant what I said.”

“I believe you. Look, why don’t you meet me and Al in the saloon tonight, I’ll treat you to some drinks for saving his life. We can at least agree to that, right?” Nate narrowed his eyes and cocked his head, but that smile managed to find its way back on his face.

“Now you’re talking my language. You know, you should’ve led with that.”

Arthur was getting whiplash at how quickly this doctor’s attitude could change. He tried rolling with the newfound levity however. “Don’t tell me you drink like a fish too.” Nate barked out a laugh.

“I could never dream of out-drinking Ben, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t tried! Besides, alcohol does have some lesser-known health benefits.”

“Uh huh. I’ll take your word for it.” He pushed off from the counter and gave the old man behind him a wide berth as he made for the door. “Well I’ll stop talkin' your ear off. Catch you later tonight?”

With a nod of his head before attending to his next customer, Nate replied, “We’ll be there.”

* * *

Whenever there was a turn of good fortune in Arthur’s favor, he liked to imagine one of his old friends was still looking out for him from beyond the grave, improbable as it was. He didn’t think people like Hosea and Dutch were afforded such privileges, seeing as Arthur doubted they ever made their way to the Pearly Gates. Sean or Lenny though? They probably made it in and were looking down at Arthur that night, and saw fit to bless him with a different bartender.

It was still as crowded and rambunctious as it was the night before, but at least Arthur could order a drink this time. He was seated with Albert at the far end of the bar, right where the two Mercer Boys were trying to goad their friend into joining their gang the night before. That trio was nowhere to be seen however and Arthur was glad for it. The glass of whiskey in his hand was as cold as could reasonably be expected in a desert town. Albert was taking his time with his gin however, likely because he wasn’t impressed with the quality.

“Remind me again, this man we’re meeting tonight, is this Bill or Javier?”

“Bill, but he goes by ‘Ben’ now.” Albert spun his glass on the counter pensively, but didn’t deign to take another swig of it.

“Hmm. Why didn’t Charles have to change his name?”

“He’s like Sadie; he never sticks around in one place too long to have to worry about it I guess.”

“And this Ben fellow, I don’t remember hearing about him much. Does he not write to the others?”

Albert was referring to the impromptu chain of Tacitus Kilgores that were constantly shooting letters back and forth to each other across the country. Though the Van der Linde gang was officially dispersed for five years now, the ragtag family still tried to keep in touch with each other. Albert was right though, Bill was never included among the occasional letters Arthur received.

“Truth be told, we all thought he was dead. He had TB and almost hacked up a lung right in front of me the last time I saw him.”

“That was the night… Dutch died?”

_Nice to know he actually listens._

“Yeah, he was there that night. Helped me and Charles bury him. But, he got better apparently and he and this doctor that saved you are a thing now.”

Albert drew his brows together. “‘A thing?’”

“Yeah, like you and me,” Arthur muttered.

“Really? I didn’t know you had another man like us in your gang.”

Arthur shrugged, “We all kinda knew I think, but he never admitted it to no one else. But if it weren’t for him, I probably would’ve never manned up to bring you to the pond that day.” _Where I asked you to be more than a friend._

Judging by the flicker of a smile on Albert’s face he was reminiscing on the fond memory as well. “Truly? Well it sounds like _I_ owe him a drink as well.”

“Don’t offer, he’ll drink ‘til your wallet’s empty. Besides, we’re here to celebrate the doctor,” he explained before finishing off the rest of his drink.

“I’m afraid I don’t recall much from that night after that bottle of whiskey you forced down my throat…”

“Hey, that was for your own good. And this doctor, he’s a quirky feller, ran into him earlier today. Changes mood like the weather and doesn’t shut up, but… I don’t know, I kinda like him. Kinda reminds me of you.”

“Uh oh, do I have some competition to worry about?”

“Ain’t no one in the world could replace you, Al.” Albert gently kicked his leg under the bar and Arthur kicked right back.

A few minutes later a slight commotion broke out behind their backs. They both turned around to see Nate being greeted by a man at the poker table and after some pleasantries were exchanged, he and Bill managed to navigate the room closer to Arthur and Albert’s spot.

“Sorry to keep you boys waiting!”

“Ain’t no problem at all," Arthur replied. "Al, you remember Doctor Nate?”

“How could I forget…” He responded in a deliberately dry tone and rolled his left shoulder for a humorous effect. Thankfully Nate picked up on the joke.

“If you _are_ experiencing memory loss, that’s a wholly unrelated matter, and I claim no responsibility!” That got a laugh out of all of them, but it died off when Albert and Bill locked eyes.

“Al, this is, uhh… an old coworker of mine. Ben, this is my very good friend, Albert.”

Everyone was on the same page and understood the doublespeak that no doubt would be peppered into conversations for the rest of the night, but it was undeniable how frosty the atmosphere had become as Albert and Bill awkwardly shook hands.

Bill coughed. “Nice to uhh, finally meet ya.”

“Likewise,” Albert responded. Arthur noticed his unusual curtness, but Nate was determined to plow right through it.

“Ben, go get me a drink, you know what I want.”

“No, hang on, I said I’d be treating,” Arthur protested, already reaching for his money clip.

“Fair enough. Ben, get me a drink and also let him buy me another,” Nate grinned. He then turned to Albert, “So you finally made it! Tell me, what brings you to Armadillo? This place isn’t exactly known for its tourism.”

Albert’s face lit up at the question. “I am a photographer and I’m actually working on a new project that brought me out here.”

Showing genuine interest, “What kind of project?”

_And they’re off to the races._

Nate likely had no idea he had just trapped himself into a conversation for the next two to three hours, but Arthur had an inkling he could handle it. He might even give Albert a run for his money as to who could talk more. Content that they were sufficiently occupied, Arthur sauntered over to a less crowded stretch of the bar where Bill was already leaning against the counter waiting for his drinks. Curiously, he had his back turned to Arthur.

“You alright, Ben?” He clapped a hand on Bill’s shoulder and got a nasty glare in response.

“Yeah, I‘m fine,” he responded unconvincingly. Arthur tried to quickly assess why Bill was bluffing.

“You’re not still mad about that night at the ranch, are you?” Bill sniffed and took his time adjusting his position to turn slightly towards Arthur, but still didn’t commit to facing him fully.

“Hadn’t been in a fight like that in a long time, but I felt safe with you behind my back. But then you didn’t help.”

“I told you, my gun jammed-“

“Funny how that’s the first time I ever seen that happen with you,” Bill interrupted. “Right after you show up sayin’ Milton wants me dead or alive.” Arthur didn’t care for that accusation one bit.

“You think I was settin’ you up? You think I planned the Mercer Boys showin’ up when they did?” At the mention of the local gang, Bill harshly shushed him.

“I’m thinkin’ you saw an opportunity to scratch a name off your list.”

“No one’s gettin’ scratched off, alright? ‘Cept maybe Milton, but we haven’t figured that out yet.”

The bartender returned from a conversation with some regulars and finally placed two beer bottles down in front of Bill and took his money. Jerking his chin up at Arthur, “What about you? What can I get ya?”

“Same as what he just got.” The bartender nodded in acknowledgment before going back to the ice chest behind his counter. Arthur continued quietly, “Have you thought about what I said? About this meeting with John and Charles?”

“Every goddamned night. Nate and I have been fightin' like cats and dogs over it.”

Already knowing the answer, Arthur asked, “He don’t want you to go?”

“Hell no. Starting to think he might just break my legs so I can’t leave.”

“But _you_ wanna come?”

“As long as I’m not walkin’ into some kind of trap, sure. Guess it’d be nice to see some of the boys too.” Bill’s voice struck an odd tone at the end there and Arthur realized how _lonely_ he must’ve been the past few years. Sure, he had Nate and some of the locals in this bar seemed to recognize the pair, but Bill had effectively lost a family almost overnight after the gang fell apart and he’d been completely in the dark about who survived and who didn’t for five years.

He didn’t dwell on the matter long as the bartender returned much quicker this time and placed two new bottles of beer in front of Arthur. After paying for them, they returned to their better halves who appeared to be in a world all their own.

“You know, bears aren’t actually all that intimidating up close. They’re just big dogs, really,” Albert was explaining as they returned within earshot. It didn’t seem Nate was buying it however.

“I don’t know much about animals, but I do know I haven’t had _nearly_ enough liquor yet to believe that, friend. Speaking of… oh, there they are.”

“Got yer poison right here, Doc,” Bill quipped as he handed Nate a bottle.

“Thank you, Ben.” Arthur caught the briefest blink-and-you’ll-miss-it look of just pure affection he gave to Bill before resuming his previous demeanor. It was a look he and Albert had perfected in public settings like this over the years. It was strangely comforting seeing another relationship so similar to his own; like a realization that Arthur and Albert weren’t the only ones who lived the way they did.

“I’ll set your next one right here,” Arthur said as he placed the next bottle in front of Nate. “Now what’s this about bears? You talkin’ about that one that almost ate me?”

“Well that was an unusually large specimen, yes, but most don’t get that large,” Albert admitted.

“Hey, I remember that,” Bill chimed up, tapping Arthur’s arm. “You still got that picture?”

“Course!” Arthur dug his journal out of his satchel and carefully sorted through the small collection of photographs he always carried with him - not all of them were for sharing - until he found what he was looking for. A photograph of Arthur, flat on his back and pinned to the ground by a monstrous brown bear that was roaring into the camera.

Nate let out a low whistle as he viewed it and Arthur and Albert took their turns telling their own versions of the story. Handing it back to Arthur, “You know, that reminds me of a poor bastard I had to treat once who got jumped by a cougar. This was before I had Ben to help. So there I was, getting ready to close up shop for the night…”

Albert and Nate did the vast majority of the talking over the next two hours, guiding the conversation through what felt like no less than twenty different topics. Only when the topic turned to the history of Armadillo did Arthur try pulling Bill aside again.

“Hey, Ben,” he hushed in a way to signal he wanted to discuss something privately. Bill, a few drinks in at this point but still together enough to understand simply raised an eyebrow. “Gotta ask you something.”

“What?”

“About Javier.”

“Oh, not this again…”

“Yes this again! Why was he coming out here? Why west?” Bill shrugged and looked agitated.

“I don’t know, he said something about it bein’ more ‘free’ than out east. You know how he was, always buyin’ into Dutch’s ideas about freedom from laws.”

“But he never mentioned a specific place or person he was looking for?” Bill thought about it and shook his head.

“Not to me. Why, you still lookin’ for him? If he shows up to this meeting, I’m out,” he growled.

“You don’t mean that-“

“Course I mean that! He left me to die! I swear, if I find that-“ Bill got himself worked up and began coughing briefly. Not as bad as he was at his worst, but Arthur still stepped back to give him some breathing space. Nate instantly whipped around at the sound and observed him cautiously.

“Ben, are you alright?”

Bill took a moment to clear his throat and set his current bottle down on the counter, signaling he was done drinking for the evening. “Yeah, I’m fine. Went down the wrong pipe.”

Nate lingered with concern for a moment before returning back to Albert, “No, it’s been an age since I was last in Saint Denis.”

“Well next time you go there’s this little bar on Lafayette Street called ‘Doyle’s Tavern’. Now it looks a _little_ rough on the outside…”

Arthur pat Bill on his back as the other man beat his chest with a fist to catch his breath back. “Keep that up and your boss won’t even let you come,” he joked.

“I blame _you_ for riling me up like that… But no, I don’t know where he is or what happened to him, so stop askin’ me.” Arthur knew this song and dance at this point so he just cut his losses there.

“Alright, forget I asked.”

* * *

The four men had been chatting and drinking for almost five hours by the time midnight rolled around and the venue finally started emptying out. Nate was easily the drunkest, though it took more to get him to that point than Arthur would’ve initially guessed. When they finally parted ways for the night, Bill had to all but carry the doctor out of the establishment, and even then a few late-night stragglers wanted to make conversation with the local celebrity.

Arthur and Albert retreated to their room on the second floor and finally got to speak alone to one another.

While pouring a small glass of water for himself from a pitcher, Arthur mentioned, “Looks like you made a new friend tonight.” Albert exaggerated a worn-out look as he began undoing his vest, but still smiled.

“He was quite the conversationalist, I’ll give him that… There _were_ points where it just felt like he was waiting for his turn to talk, but not in a mean way; he just had _so much_ to say about everything.”

“Now you know how I feel every day with you.”

“Oh, stop.”

Arthur finished off his glass before sitting at the edge of his bed and beginning to work on removing his boots. “What’d you think of Bill? You didn’t talk or even look at him much.” Albert paused, then abruptly shucked his own boots off and turned his back to Arthur.

“He seemed fine. My goodness, I _am_ tired though. Think I’ll turn in.” Arthur cocked an eyebrow and turned to see Albert was lying on his right side in bed, facing the wall, still fully clothed.

“Just fine? Usually you got all kinds of questions about the old gang. You still try to get stories outta John and Charles after all these years,” he pointed out.

“I feel like I’ve heard all the ones worth telling at this point. Arthur, I really am tired, can we just sleep?” Arthur studied his back curiously.

“Something wrong? You’re acting kinda strange.”

“Nothing’s wrong, I just don’t feel like talking anymore.”

_Something’s wrong._

Normally after a night of good company and conversation Albert stayed wound up and energized for another few hours, and Arthur had been secretly dreading having his ear talked off again once they got back up to the room. That likely was going to be the case until the mention of Bill completely changed the mood for some reason.

Carefully, he approached and sat on Albert’s bed, resting a hand on the other man’s thigh.

“You know you can tell me anything,” he murmured. Albert was still and silent for almost half a minute, but he was obviously still awake. Arthur was about to pull away and give up for the evening when Albert finally spoke up.

“Well now I’ll feel like a hypocrite if I don’t.” He slowly pulled his body up so his legs could hang over the same side and he could sit next to Arthur. He looked down at his folded hands. “If I tell you something, do you promise not to get mad?”

It was the kind of thing you only said before making someone mad.

“I promise.”

Albert cracked his knuckles nervously.

“That man? Bill? ...I recognized him.”

“From where?,” Arthur asked.

“We had an encounter once. A long time ago, while you were both still in the gang.” A mental image of Bill pulling a gun on Albert on the side of the road somewhere flashed in his mind’s eye.

“What kind of encounter? He try robbin' you or something?”

“No, it was… a more… _intimate_ encounter.”

Arthur’s stomach twisted itself into a knot immediately, but he said nothing.

Albert continued, “It was the same day you saved me from the wolves now that I’m thinking about it. I stayed in Valentine that night. We... saw each other in the bar. I thought I was picking up on some of his tells so we went back to my room…”

This must have happened shortly after the gang had escaped Colter up in the mountains. They had just settled into their new spot in Horseshoe Overlook, and everyone was looking for ways to relax after the stressful ordeal of the previous month. Seeing as Bill wasn’t well-liked around camp, it wouldn’t have been unusual for him to sneak off on his own, and Valentine was the closest town to camp where he realistically could find someone to-

“I don’t… I don’t need to know.”

Albert reached forward to hold Arthur’s hands, which he let him do, but Arthur couldn’t make eye contact.

“Arthur, that’s how I lived my life before you. But I have _never_ been unfaithful to you. I never would be, you know that, don’t you?”

Arthur swallowed and tried to force the images out of his mind that his cruel imagination was forcing on him. “Is that why you two clammed up like that?”

“I have no doubt he recognized me as well. If not initially, then definitely at some other point in the night.” 

Bill’s initial frostiness at the bar made more sense in this context. Arthur thought it was over the incident at the MacFarlane ranch, but he merely provided an alibi for Bill to seize upon, which he clearly did.

“Arthur?” He needed a few moments to collect his thoughts.

“I don’t know what to say. I mean how can I face him again knowing that now?” Albert drew his head back, offended.

“Like an _adult._ It was a long time ago and it was only once; I never even saw him again before tonight.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What, you want me to list all the men I’ve been with? I didn’t think I had to,” Albert responded testily.

“Well how many? How many men…” Albert clenched his jaw and stared at the floor.

“...I’d have to think about it,” he eventually answered.

Arthur felt as if there was a veritable Gordian Knot lying where his stomach once was.

“Are you mad at me?,” Albert asked. It sounded as if he was getting upset himself.

“No, but… he’s a friend. Now every time I see him I’m gonna be thinkin' about that!” Albert glared at him and spoke slowly to display his simmering anger.

“How do you think I feel _every time_ I speak with Mary? Knowing that she had you before me? That you loved her first? It’s in the back of my mind, yes, but _far_ in the back. I don’t let such a trivial thing get in the way of our friendship in the present. I’m merely asking you to do the same.”

Arthur didn’t have a good response for that.

“I guess…” He felt pressure on his hands as Albert squeezed them.

“I don’t want to fight about this. Arthur, I love you. Now and forever. You must remember that.”

He sighed and nodded gently, “I will. Think I’m just tired too.” He gave a gentle squeeze back before tearing his hands free and moving to settle into his own bed. Albert watched silently, and only turned the lamp off once Arthur was laying down, facing the door with his back turned to him.

* * *

_9/6/04_

_[Multiple words were written and scratched out, indicating three failed attempts to begin a sentence. Instead, there is a sketch of a vulture on top of a church with its wings spread wide. There is no caption.]_

* * *

An overcast sky that unfortunately wasn’t dark enough to threaten the town with rain greeted them the following morning. After a wordless breakfast shared in the room, Albert announced that he would go to the General Store to look for a cookbook for Abigail before getting to work with his camera. It was only after an explicit invitation that Arthur finally spoke, and it was only to politely decline. Still, he allowed Albert to gently kiss his forehead before he left Arthur alone in the room.

He lingered on his bed for a while, inactive. When he finally reached for his journal to make sense of his thoughts, he found he couldn’t commit them to paper. Not because he didn’t know what they were, but rather because he was embarrassed by them. In truth, Arthur was intimidated by Albert for lack of a better word.

Being raised as a criminal from adolescence and living as one through to his mid-thirties had not afforded Arthur many opportunities to take on lovers. And after a one-night fling with Eliza relatively early on had resulted in a son, he erred on the side of caution and avoided such trysts. He was steady for a while with Mary years later, but after that ended in heartache, he had largely written off trying to bed women altogether, to say nothing of his ignorance towards the matter of two men being together.

Albert, by contrast, seemed to know exactly what he wanted and knew how to get it in his youth. If their conversation from the previous night was any indication, Albert had a wealth of experience in the bedroom that dwarfed Arthur’s. And while he was clearly the recipient of the benefits of all that experience, it still made Arthur feel inferior.

Rather than attempt to put all that into words, he opted to half-heartedly sketch a vulture and a church instead.

* * *

Having sufficiently pitied himself in the room all morning, Arthur exited the saloon and assessed the main road that ran through Armadillo. Realistically this was his last day he could try finding anything out about Javier before they would have to get back on the road to meet John in Thieves’ Landing in two days.

To his right, a large wagon was parked in front of the train station, being loaded with burlap sacks of something by an older gentleman. Arthur thought he recognized the man with a large grayed mustache, but it wasn’t until they coincidentally locked eyes that he was positive.

“Amos!,” he called out with a wave.

“Arthur! You gonna help out or just watch?” His grin betrayed his scolding remark, and Arthur was used to this kind of treatment by now anyway. He came over to the back of the wagon and they shook hands in greeting.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Picking up a shipment of feed for the cows and some other things we can’t grow on our own,” Amos explained as he hauled another sack up into the wagon. He pointed at a pallet next to them. “Here, everything on this is ours and needs to be loaded up.”

He was already getting into position to hoist up the largest sack, but Arthur still asked, “Why’d you gotta come out here to get it? You got that station right next to the ranch, don’t you?”

“We do, but it’s cheaper to buy it from Armadillo. Plus I needed some other small things from the general store. Saw your cousin in there; his shoulder seemed fine.”

“Yeah, he’s doin’ better…,” Arthur mumbled. They fell into an unspoken rhythm after that, Amos climbing up into the wagon and Arthur passing him sacks to sort and adjust properly. When that was finished Amos pulled up and locked the hatch at the back of the wagon and threw a weathered canvas over the supplies.

“So it doesn’t get all covered in road dust,” he explained.

“Makes sense.” He watched Amos walk to the front of the wagon and climb up with some difficulty into the driver’s bench, grunting as he went. “You headin’ back now?”

“Yeah, you know how those boys are, lookin’ for any excuse to slack off if I’m not there to whip ‘em into shape.”

“I still think you’re too hard on ‘em, but what do I know? Hey, say hi to Miss Bonnie for me, will you?”

“Will do. And thanks for the help. Yah!” Amos whipped the two horses into motion and began his return. He wouldn’t be able to make the turn sharp enough to take the main drag through the middle of town, so he had to head south for a bit first before he could make his way back to their ranch. Arthur watched as the cloud of dust kicked up by the wagon grew smaller in the distance and tried to reorient his mind for what he originally came out here to do. To his right was the train station that doubled as a post office, and there was a small bounty board affixed on the outside.

_Couldn’t hurt to look._

Not expecting much, he stepped up onto the wooden deck and was a little disconcerted by the number of unique bounties that were tacked onto the board. No wonder Sadie spent more time out west than the rest of them. There were the usual smaller rewards for petty crimes and familial acts of violence: a woman who poisoned her husband, a man who set fire to his brother’s house, a young couple that murdered the woman’s husband to elope. But the larger values seemed to be reserved for several young men for more generic crimes. Larceny, kidnapping, even murder. All of these were explicitly labeled as being members of the Mercer Boys.

The sound of gunfire ripped Arthur’s attention away from the wall.

He snapped his head to the left and instinctively ducked behind a nearby pallet of supplies that hadn’t been picked up by its owner yet. His hand hovered above his Volcanic, but once he got his bearings he could tell that the shots were coming from very far away. Squinting his eyes, he could make out some men on horseback circling a wagon that had to be Amos’. It was only by the grace of the local geography and the fact that the sun wasn’t baking the very ground that he could see this play out from a distance, helpless.

There was another exchange of gunfire followed by silence. One of the riders approached the wagon and climbed up into the driver’s bench. The driver, presumably Amos, was forced into the back and when the wagon began moving again it was heading in a southwesterly direction, into the open desert.

The only thing that was out that way was Fort Mercer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, as the author: Hmm, yes, I think I shall stir up drama for no discernible reason…
> 
> Honestly though, finding out that two of your friends (who you didn’t even know knew each other) hooked up years ago is gay culture. But there is also an actual reason I took this route; one of the overarching themes I want this work to have is to be about the things we hide from our significant others. Whether they’re secrets or outright lies, I think it’s interesting to think about how even when you devote to building your life around someone else, you’re never 100% open about everything. But what if those darker parts came to light anyway? Would that strengthen or weaken a relationship? Guess we’ll find out once Arthur finally admits to why they left the house in the first place, but Albert clearly still has some secrets of his own as well.
> 
> At risk of exposing myself to a plot hole, let's say when Bill saw Albert the night he got shot, it was too dark in the room to get a good look at him and he was more distracted/surprised by Arthur to recognize Albert. There, problem solved.
> 
> Also I recognize that we're spending a lot of time on this Mercer Boys subplot, but I promise I haven't forgotten about the main story and Jack! Remember, Milton gave John two months to find the old gang, and we're only just short of two weeks in-fiction.


	8. Fort Mercer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur tries to rescue Amos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got an unintentional dose of immersion and had to sleep without air conditioning or a ceiling fan last night as tropical storm Isaias knocked out my power for eighteen hours. 0/10, would not recommend to a friend, I don't know how our two boys lived like this.
> 
> Also, this is the longest chapter to date clocking in at 8,745 words, but it's mostly dialogue (surprise), so hopefully it should be a fast read.
> 
> This chapter picks up immediately where the last one left off.
> 
> _UPDATE- This chapter was updated for minor edits on 11/22/2020_

The gunshots that rang out across the desert landscape had stopped about a minute earlier, but some passerby caught outside were still scurrying to get indoors. Some others, maybe more brave or just more foolish, instead tried looking out past the town’s limits to figure out the source. Amos and his wagon were quickly becoming a speck on the horizon however.

_They’re gonna kill him._

Arthur straightened up from his position behind the pallet of supplies he had used for cover and jogged over to Ivy in front of the saloon. He already had her reins in hand and one foot in the stirrup, ready to hoist himself over her before he realized what he was doing. Was he really about to set out into the desert alone, without telling anyone where he was going? Without backup? And if he couldn’t get to Amos before he was taken to Fort Mercer, was he really going to be able to storm the place single-handedly? He remembered the conversation he eavesdropped on two nights earlier.

_“How many Mercer Boys are there?” “Dunno, maybe thirty or forty?”_

Cursing under his breath, he threw the reins back over the hitching post. Ivy let out a frustrated huff of her own, for entirely different reasons. She pawed at the ground in anticipation of a ride.

“I know, girl, gimme a minute,” he cooed as he patted her. Penny, at her side, was calm and disinterested as usual, probably didn’t even bat an eye at the sound of the gunfire. “Just hang tight with your sister.”

He assessed his options. Going alone was a horrible idea, obviously, but not doing anything at all seemed equally bad. He could potentially try getting the sheriff and some of his deputies to lend a hand, but he didn’t know how enthusiastic they would be at leaving their jurisdiction to rescue someone.

Bringing Albert was out of the question.

Running out of options, he realized with regret that the only one in this town he could reliably count on was Bill. He’d been hoping to put off facing him again until this upcoming meeting, but Amos’ life was at stake, and that was more important than Arthur’s pride. He patted Ivy’s neck one last time before forcing his feet to carry him down the main road to Doctor Johnston’s office, past small clusters of people gossiping about what the noise a few minutes earlier had been about.

The same bell above the door greeted him from overhead as he entered the front of the doctor’s office. As did two sets of wide eyes.

In front of him, Bill was already standing, leaning forward with his hands onto the high counter Nate had been stationed at yesterday. To Arthur’s right, seated on a waiting bench and clutching his tripod and equipment with his one good hand was Albert. There was a good ten feet of separation between the two men, but Arthur still had a feeling he had interrupted something judging by their open jaws and the complete silence that fell over the room for several seconds.

“What the hell is going on out there, Morgan?” Arthur ignored Bill’s question and looked squarely at Albert.

“What are you doin’ here?,” he asked.

“I heard gunshots outside, so I tried to get indoors as quickly as possible. This was the closest place.”

Arthur swung his eyes over to Bill.

“I work here,” he stated defensively. Arthur couldn’t help but lower his eyes to Bill’s mouth, wondering what parts of Albert’s body they had once brushed up against all those years ago. No doubt over the same patches of skin that Arthur knew like the back of-

He forced his eyes shut and quickly shook his head. “Yeah, I know you work here. Listen, Amos just got snatched up by the Mercer Boys.”

“Is that what that was?,” Albert asked.

Bill seemed confused. “Wait, which Amos?”

 _"Which Amos-_ Bonnie’s top ranch hand! How many Amoses you know?”

“A few, actually…,” he grumbled.

“How do you know they were Mercer Boys?,” Albert prompted.

“I watched it happen from the post office. He was outnumbered and they took his wagon, heading southwest from here.” Albert drew his brows together and slowly shook his head.

“I’m not sure I follow.”

Bill did. He began explaining, “Only thing out that way is Fort Mercer. So what are we-” He was interrupted as the door behind him opened and Doctor Johnston joined his side behind the counter, casting concerned glances at the trio.

_Did Bill tell him?_

“Is something wrong?,” Nate asked and Arthur wondered how many times he was going to have to repeat things.

“Amos got kidnapped by the Mercer Boys,” he said.

“Which one?”

“From the MacFarlane Ranch,” Bill mumbled to Nate at his side. Nate brought a hand up over his mouth and seemed lost in thought for a moment.

“I bet you they were waiting for him. This has to be in revenge for that night we were there last.”

The night Eddie and four other young men had died. All because Arthur chose a bad spot to set up camp. And now Amos was going to die as well if he didn’t act soon.

“I’m goin' after him. Will you ride with me, Bill?”

“Of course.” He made to walk out in front of the counter, but Nate blocked his path and placed a hand on his assistant’s chest.

“Of course _not._ What are you thinking?”

Bill could’ve easily pushed Nate aside, but he merely argued, “I’m thinkin' he’s gonna _die_ if we don’t go!”

“And I’m thinking _you_ will if you do go!” Turning to face Arthur, but not letting go of Bill, “I’m not letting him go with you; only two men up against that fort is suicide.”

Albert piped up from his seat, “Can we ask the sheriff to help?” Nate shook his head.

“Don’t bother, he’s a pushover already bought by the Mercer Boys; he won’t lift a finger.” Arthur was getting frustrated at wasting time bickering like this. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed as he desperately tried to channel his scattered thoughts towards something productive.

“What about Bonnie? She can come bring some of her hands with her.” It was the next best thing he could think of.

“She certainly deserves to know. But maybe that’s the whole point of this, maybe they’re using Amos to lure her out,” Nate pointed out.

“I don’t disagree, but I think that’s our best bet.”

Bill finally grabbed Nate’s wrist and pried it off of him. “Fine. I’ll ride out to her ranch and come back with her.”

“Then I’m coming with you,” Nate said, sounding displeased, defiantly staring down Bill who seemed equally irked.

“What? Why? You don’t trust me or somethin’?”

“I sure don’t! I’m not letting you out of my sight. You’re not going to go play hero on me.” Nate finally stepped in front of the counter and began ushering Arthur and Albert towards the door with his hands. “Gentleman, please exit out the front, I need to close up early.” Albert dutifully tried balancing his equipment - he hadn’t had time to properly pack everything away it seemed - but Arthur swooped in and grabbed everything for him. He turned and leveled a look at Nate and Bill.

“What am I supposed to do 'til you come back?”

“I dunno. Come up with a plan! And make sure your guns won’t get jammed this time,” Bill sniped as he passed through the door behind him that no doubt led to a rear exit. Arthur bit his tongue at the unnecessary swipe, but Nate’s hand in his shoulder forcing him out the door grabbed his attention.

“We’ll meet you in front of the train station once we have her. We’ll ride as fast as we can.” Once they were pushed outside, Nate closed the door behind them, flipped the “OPEN” sign to “CLOSED”, and offered a weak wave before pulling the blinds down on the window of the door.

* * *

Once back in the safety of the rented room, Albert let out a sigh that he’d likely been holding since the firefight first happened. Arthur set the equipment and his hat aside on the small desk and studied him carefully.

“You alright?” Albert noticed he was being watched and nodded as he tried to regain his composure.

“I’m fine now, thank you,” he dismissed. “Just some rattled nerves is all. You think I’d be used to the sounds of gunshots by now.” It was a weak attempt at a joke that didn’t lighten either of their spirits.

“You never really get used to it…” There were dozens of gunfights Arthur had filed away in his memories that he could summon up. No matter how many life-or-death situations he’d been in, his body would always tense up at the first gun being fired, even if he knew it was coming. He didn’t freeze completely, he’d be dead several times over if that were the case, but it certainly wasn’t a comfortable state to be in, no matter how familiar it was.

After a pause, Albert spoke up and pulled him out of his swirling thoughts of violence. “Arthur I meant what I said.” He blinked and looked up at Albert.

“About what?”

“I was just in that office to get off the street. I was barely alone with Bill for a minute before you showed up.” He wore an expression of concern, like he was a child caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to and was waiting for a scolding.

Arthur tried to assuage the tense mood with, “I believe you.” It didn’t seem to work.

Albert looked down at his hands. “I just know I lost your trust last night and-”

“Ain’t nothing like that. I just… I just need time. But I still trust you.” Albert flicked his eyes up and nodded gently before letting his eyes fall distant again.

“So you’re going to take on a whole gang for Amos?”

Arthur sighed, and dropped his hands to his sides. “I don’t know what the plan is. But maybe.”

“Do you even know where you’re going? Do you know where it is?”

Realizing he didn’t, he admitted, “No. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to scout the place out before they come back with Bonnie.”

Albert walked over and sat on the edge of his bed. He ran his right hand over the back of his neck. “I thought we were past this kind of… _excitement.”_

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to see some wild west action.” That earned him the first genuine smile out of Albert in what felt like days, and made his heart soar at the sight.

“I did. Maybe my next project should just be flowers or… I don’t know, ‘interestingly-shaped clouds’, I think that’s more my speed these days.”

“Maybe,” Arthur chuckled. He took a seat at the edge of his own bed, facing Albert. He leaned forward onto his knees and they both stared at the ground, hating the situation but knowing Arthur would be leaving soon anyway. Albert surprised him with what he said next.

“I wish Sadie were here.”

Arthur cocked an eyebrow at that. “Really? She’s not exactly the comforting type.”

Shaking his head, “Not to stay here with _me,_ to go out there with _you.”_

“She’d do all the fighting for me, there’d be no one left for me to shoot,” Arthur pointed out.

“That’s exactly my point. Because then there’d be no one to shoot you.” Another hollow attempt at a joke that fell short.

“I’m gonna be careful, Al. I’m not gonna be stupid about this.”

“I know, I just…”

“Listen… Remember that night I left to stop the boys from robbin' that train?” Albert frowned, more out of anger than sadness.

“I remember hating your plan, yes,” he replied in monotone. Arthur pressed on.

“I was careful that night. Didn’t even kill no one. I’m gonna do the same here.” Albert wrinkled his nose involuntarily and looked away at nothing in particular for a few moments before making eye contact again.

“Then I’ll tell you the same thing I told you then. You do _whatever_ it takes to come back to me in one piece. I’ll understand.”

“Al-” A pointed finger waved in his face interrupted him.

“Remember what I told you. You are a _good man_ who is sometimes forced to do bad things. But you are a _good man_ first and foremost.”

Five years of hearing that and Arthur still didn’t believe it.

“If you say so.”

“I do. And I want you to say it too.”

Brows drawn together, “Really?”

“Really. Say it.” He stared Albert down and found that he was being serious. He rolled his eyes and relented in a tone of voice that wasn’t even in the neighborhood of being genuine.

“I am a good man.” _Allegedly._ “But not half as good as you.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Albert agreed with a smirk. Arthur reflected it right back with his own, but his face fell as he forced himself to stand up from the bed with a sigh.

“I should get going.” 

“I know… I’d offer to come, but…” Albert gestured at his wounded left shoulder.

“But you’re a horrible shot, I know.” Albert’s jaw dropped in feigned offense.

 _“Horrible_ is a strong word-“

“Al, you blew through a whole chamber with my repeater and landed _one_ shot.”

“Well you never trained me with a long-arm like that! Really that was _your_ fault.”

“Wastin' all my goddamn bullets…,” he muttered.

“Besides, a one-handed pistol is more my speed.” He mocked a quick draw and spinning an imaginary gun before ‘re-holstering’ it.

“Like that time you almost blew my head off?”

“My god, you can hold a grudge. You really are never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“I’ll be tellin' everyone I meet about that til the end of my days.” He got a pained and wistful smile back in response.

“Let’s hope that’s not anytime soon.”

Albert also rose and closed the gap between them, fronts pressed together. Left arm still in a makeshift sling, all he could do was run a hand through his husband’s hair until it found a familiar place holding the back of his head.

“Please be safe.” Arthur mirrored the pose by holding Albert’s face, thumb playing with the other man’s beard the same way he always did those early mornings and late nights when they were just mindlessly speaking in bed.

“I will. I love you, Al.”

“I love you too.” There was no need for Albert to pull Arthur in for a kiss; he would always come into it willingly, and this time was no different. Lasting just a little longer than their parting kisses normally went on for, Arthur finally had to pull away for air and to begin the inevitable march into the unknown again.

_I hate doing this._

Albert was left standing in the middle of the room, in the space between the two beds. Arthur collected his hat from the desk and was halfway out the door when a last-minute idea occurred to him. He stopped and abruptly twisted back around.

“Can I borrow your vest?”

* * *

Finding the spot where the incident happened was easy enough, as was following the wheelmarks of the wagon. They left an easy trail in the sandy desert road that Arthur was able to follow for almost an hour. The landscape afforded him long sightlines to avoid any ambush, but all he saw were cacti, rocks, dust and small critters that barely managed to scurry away from Ivy’s hooves.

All that and the fort itself.

It was easy enough to spot, even from this distance. After pulling her to a halt atop a distant hill crest, Arthur dug around deep within Ivy’s saddlebags until he found what he was looking for: a set of binoculars Albert had gifted him for his birthday one year. He took a quick glance around to make sure there was no one sneaking up on him, then he looked through the lens and fiddled with the dial until he could focus them properly. He was too far to make out any minor details, but there were definitely men on top of the walls that made up the perimeter. There looked to be some wooden spiked barricades near the only entrance he could make out from this angle: a large, closed wooden door. The walls were mostly smooth, and there were no trees or vines growing near them so climbing in likely wasn’t a viable option. Even if he waited for nightfall, they would just have to do everything in the dark, which in his experience only served to make things harder.

He was likely going to have to go with the plan he came up with on the ride over here. Frowning, he put the binoculars away and spun Ivy around, spurring her back to Armadillo.

* * *

“Arthur, how are you holding up?”

It was late afternoon. He looked over his shoulder and turned around, pretending like he hadn’t noticed the sound of multiple horses approaching down the main road. Arthur had returned to Armadillo well before the assembled group now before him had shown up, but Arthur had elected to stay outside, lingering by the agreed-upon location in front of the train station. If he had gone back up to the room, it would’ve just been that much harder to leave again.

With a tip of his hat and a strained smile, “I’ve been better, Miss Bonnie, not gonna lie. But not nearly so bad as Amos probably is right now.”

“Assuming he’s still alive,” one of the hands at Bonnie’s flank mumbled loud enough for everyone to hear him. Arthur recognized him as the man who had killed the last Mercer Boy and saved Bill’s life that first night back at the ranch. Jacob, he thinks his name was. Seems his ‘partner’ had come along as well, but none of the other hands did.

Bonnie snapped back at Jacob. “Of course he is. Doctor Johnston’s right, they’re trying to use him to get to _me.”_

If they were about to do this, Arthur needed to ask something first. “What is this whole beef between you and those Mercer Boys anyway? I know you don’t like ‘em, but how’d that all start?”

“I’ll tell you on the way. Are we ready to head out?” She gathered up the reins of her horse in preparation, but was distracted when Nate dismounted from his own.

“I’m afraid Ben and I will be staying here in town, Miss MacFarlane.” He exchanged a quick glare at Bill, who clearly wanted to go, but decided not to press the matter. Bill reluctantly dismounted from Brown Jack, who Arthur was surprised was still around and in riding condition. Bonnie, for her part, did not seem upset.

“I understand. You’re needed here, and I appreciate you coming to get me in the first place.”

Placing a hand over his chest and bowing his head slightly, Nate said, “It’s the least we could do. Please be safe out there, and don’t be afraid to seek me out for my services. Should it come to that…” He gathered the reins of his horse and began leading it back up the street towards his office, away from the rest of the group. Bill lingered, letting his face express his distaste for being held back for all to see.

“Good luck, Arthur,” he said gruffly. Arthur merely nodded before Bill turned his back and followed after Nate.

“Let’s go, we’re wasting daylight! Yah!” Bonnie kicked her horse into motion before Arthur could even mount up himself. Jacob and his partner - _was it ‘Mitch’ or ‘Mike’?_ \- followed after and Arthur needed some time to catch up. Some five minutes later, he was finally riding just behind Bonnie, and she began shouting over her shoulder to him.

“So these Mercer Boys, they only first showed up maybe a year or two back. Started small, just robbing folk out in the countryside like you and your cousin. But then they got it in their heads to start robbing horses and stagecoaches. Stagecoaches that were bringing supplies to our ranch that we needed.”

“I take it you didn’t care for that too much,” he guessed, having to shout back over the thunder of the horses beneath them.

“Not at all. So we started telling them to keep their distance. Let them have their fun over in their part of the state and leave us alone in ours. But they wouldn’t listen. Amos and I started patrolling the roads at night to scare them off. Then one night we found you two.” She paused. “Things kinda escalated from there as I’m sure you remember.”

“I remember.”

“So what’s the plan?,” Jacob asked.

“The plan is I’m gonna turn myself in so they hand Amos over to you boys.” Arthur wasn’t sure he heard her correctly, and apparently he wasn’t the only one.

Either Mitch or Mike - _I cannot remember this feller’s name_ \- immediately followed up with, “What? Why?”

“They’re not gonna kill a woman. They may beat me, sure, but then they’ll send me on my way after I play it up like I’m gonna leave them alone.” It was a big gamble, and one Arthur found himself uncomfortable with. He could respect this woman being willing to sacrifice herself for one of her friends, but he also didn’t think it was necessary.

“Miss MacFarlane. _Bonnie._ I admire your bravery, but that is just about the most foolish idea I can think of.”

“You got a better one?,” she challenged.

“I do!”

“Then let’s hear it!”

All four horses slowed down as the group came to a sharp right turn in the road. Once past that, they picked up speed again, and Arthur could pitch his idea.

“I’m gonna go in tryin' to act like I wanna join up, as a new recruit. No offense, but none of you really look the part like I do.” He cast a quick glance at his three companions. Bonnie and Jacob both had carbine repeaters slung over their shoulders, but the third man only had a single revolver. And with their straw hats and overalls, the two hands just _looked_ like, well, ranch hands. Arthur, by contrast, was in what Albert called ‘walking arsenal’ mode with his full weapon loadout on display and his father’s well-work gambler’s hat that practically screamed ‘gunslinger.’

“Then what?”

“I’ll try and find him once I’m inside. Or at least get a sense of the place. If I can’t get out with him, I’ll leave, and then we can try to figure something else out.”

Bonnie shot a quick look at him from over her shoulder. “So you can go in alone but I can’t?”

“They know who you are, but they don’t know me at all though. I guarantee you none of them will recognize me. They’ll just think I’m some grizzled old fool chasing after his glory days.”

“Aren’t you?,” Jacob quipped from behind. _Cheeky bastard._

“Why would they let you in?,” his partner asked from the rear.

“I overheard some of ‘em talkin' in the bar the other night. They got a system for new recruits. I gotta wave something green to get their attention.” Bonnie took a few moments to mull over the new information and likely decided it was better than her original plan.

“Sounds easy enough. You got something green?”

“Yeah, I got it covered. Figured you three will hide out nearby in case it goes bad right from the start. But if I think it’s safe, I’ll swing it over my shoulder. If not, I’ll drop it on the ground.”

“It’s better than nothing.” Judging by her tone, Bonnie didn’t think it was the best idea in the world, and Arthur couldn’t disagree. Still, she was eager for _something_ to happen, because she spurred her horse to go even faster, and the three men had to do the same to avoid eating the cloud of dust that trailed behind her.

* * *

There was maybe an hour and a half left of daylight as Arthur approached the fort for the second time that day. The clouds had burned away, yielding an open, dry sky that seemed to be the norm for this part of the country. Consequently, it made it difficult to see the men who were manning the top of the walls as he approached from the east. He had no doubt they could see him though.

He dismounted Ivy a safe distance from the entrance, hopefully outside of rifle range. From the back of the saddle, wrapped around his bedroll, he carefully removed Albert’s green vest as if it were made of glass. This wasn’t what he was wearing during the encounter with Eddie, _that_ vest was ruined with a bullet hole and a bloodstain, though Albert insisted on keeping it; he wanted to ask Abigail to sew up the hole so he could keep using it, but who knew when that was going to happen.

It also wasn’t the same green vest he wore when they first met in 1899, but he’d had it for long enough that it was still quintessentially _Albert._ Arthur resisted the urge to sniff it, to take in the comforting familiarity of the other man’s scent in this tense moment and instead hoisted it high above his head with his left arm. He had to trust that Bonnie and Jacob and Mickey - _that’s his name!_ \- were slowly getting into a good position to cover him while he was providing this distraction. He began walking forward.

Squinting as he looked directly into the evening sun hanging above and behind the fort, he hoped this ruse would work because there was no way he would be able to aim a shot at someone elevated above him, hiding behind cover _and_ with a giant ball of light behind them.

“Stop right there!” A voice from up on the wall finally called out when he was maybe thirty feet away from the main door. Arthur could only make out some semblance of a shadow looking down at him. “What do ya want?”

“Wanna join up. Heard you were lookin’ to take on some new guys.”

“You’re a little old to be joining a gang like ours, no?”

“I ain’t that old!,” he said, more for himself.

“Who’d you talk to?” He had to quickly think of a common, believable name.

“Feller named John.” There were thirty to forty men in this gang, surely there had to be at least one ‘John.’

“John who?,” proved to be a more difficult follow-up question he should’ve expected and Arthur was never good at thinking fast on his feet in this manner. Panicked, he reached into his mind and picked out the first name he could find.

“John Marston.” He regretted it immediately, and hoped he could play off his wince as being a result of staring into the sun.

“There’s no John Marston here,” the guard dismissed.

“Could ya… could ya go check?”

Somewhere, hundreds of miles away in Lemoyne, Hosea was likely spinning in his grave at this ‘performance.’

This was likely the most interesting thing to happen on the guard’s shift because for whatever reason, he decided to indulge Arthur. The man shouted over his shoulder and into the fort, “Hey, is there a John Marston here? Your guy’s out front.”

Unless by some cosmic twist of fate there _was_ a John Marston in that fort, which would present its own problems, this wasn’t going to work as Arthur planned. He kept the vest raised above him however; he didn’t want to send the wrong signal to Bonnie and the others just yet. After lingering for half a minute with growing anxiety and failing to think of an alternative plan, the guard unexpectedly called down to him.

“Someone’s coming out for you!”

The large wooden door that made up this main entrance groaned as it began to swing open. The sounds of grunts and shuffling feet indicated that there was a good amount of physical labor involved in this process. Once the door was opened wide enough, four men walked through it and Arthur instinctively rested his free hand over his pistol. Three of them fanned out and held back, but one continued forward with a distinctive limp, boots crunching over the sandy dirt and coming to a stop just a few feet away from Arthur. He pivoted the vest into position such that it could block most of the sun’s rays that were hitting his eyes so he could get a better look at this well-dressed man standing before him.

“Sorry, John’s not home right now,” Javier said.

An incredulous laugh escaped Arthur and he stepped forward, ignoring the three guns that were now aimed at him, so he could finally step into the shadow of the wall and get a good look at his old friend.

“You wiseass.”

“Hey, I learned it from you,” he grinned back. They stepped forward and embraced each other at the same time briefly before pulling away to inspect each other. “Arthur Morgan, ho-lee shit... You got old, brother.”

“Oh, not you too,” Arthur groaned with an exaggerated eye roll. Javier pulled his hands back and gestured apologetically.

“Sorry, sorry! Just feels like you’re back from the dead.”

“Could say the same about you. What makes you think _I_ was dead though?”

Javier took a step back and put his hands on his hips, still looking like he was in shock as he gave Arthur another once-over. “I thought maybe Micah or the Pinkertons killed you.”

“Nah. He almost did, but John saved my life and killed him instead.” Javier nodded as if he understood, but his face suggested otherwise.

“Was this recently? You’re looking for John now and you thought he was here?”

“Naw, that was a long time ago, and unrelated. I was trying to get in here for... something else, but I _was_ also looking for you.” Javier was fully confused at this point.

“Wait, so why did you use John’s name?”

Shrugging, “I just panicked and can’t act for shit, you know that.”

Javier studied him momentarily before flashing a smile again, but for some reason it felt slightly less genuine this time. “Some things never change, huh? So what _are_ you doing out here?”

“It’s complicated... I really was hoping to find you though.”

He cocked his head playfully. “Uh oh, am I in trouble?” Arthur didn’t meet his energy and instead replied gravely.

“We both are. I need your help, Javier. Something bad happened.” He looked past his friend at the three men who lingered bad, still holding their guns, but at least they weren’t trained on Arthur anymore. He continued in a whisper, “Look, do we gotta do this out here, or…?”

Javier quickly glanced over his shoulder to see what Arthur was looking at and instantly fell back into that relaxed demeanor. “Of course, of course, come on in.” Heading back towards the door, he waved at the men to lower their weapons. “He’s with me, he’s fine.”

Surprised that his plan, at least this part of it, seemed to be working so far, Arthur saw no choice but to sling the green vest over his shoulder and follow after, hoping that Bonnie and the others saw the signal. Slipping past the main door he could see the interior of the fort opened up into an exposed plaza of sorts, packed with tables, crates, a few separate campfires and what looked to be an old gallows. Javier kept walking with that new limp forward into the compound as Arthur scanned around quickly. To his left, he saw Amos’ wagon, already emptied out, but he knew that the Mercer Boys didn’t find anything valuable; he had helped load it up earlier that day and knew it was mostly just sacks of cow feed. There was no sign of Amos himself however.

He tried to act nonchalant, but there were several sets of eyes following him, marking him as a clear outsider. Javier approached a door to the left that led into a room built into the outer wall of the fort. “Come on, we can talk in here.”

Arthur did as he was told, and was met with a damp, cool atmosphere, a welcome reprieve from the dry desert air. There were a few oil lanterns lit along the walls, but it wasn’t an especially large room, likely some kind of storage cell back when the Army was manning this fort. Javier sat in a wooden chair on the opposite side of an old table and gestured for Arthur to take another, mismatched chair. He didn’t like sitting with his back to the only door to this room, but he obliged his friend anyway.

“So how did you know I was here?,” Javier began.

“I didn’t, but I’m glad I found you.” Again, that smile seemed to lose a little bit of sincerity.

“So there’s some other reason you just walked up to the front door of the biggest gang in the state?” Arthur looked down at his feet, back to the door, then up to Javier and spoke softly in case anyone was listening at the door.

“I’m actually here for someone else. A feller that got kidnapped by some Mercer Boys today. Think I just saw his wagon outside.”

Javier narrowed his eyes. “The guy from the MacFarlane Ranch?”

“Amos, yeah. I need to get him out of here.”

“Why?”

“He saved my life a few weeks back, felt I owed it to him.”

Javier leaned back and mindlessly twisted the tip of his mustache, focusing at nothing in particular. When his eyes finally snapped back to Arthur’s he asked, “Do you know what that ranch has done to us?” Arthur swallowed uncomfortably.

“Killed four of your boys?”

“No. _Five.”_

Shaking his head in protest, “No. _I_ killed the first one. That’s what started this whole mess. And I don’t want no one else gettin' hurt over my mistake.” Javier’s hand stopped fidgeting with his facial hair. He raised an eyebrow.

“You killed a Mercer Boy?” Arthur sighed and nodded.

“His name was Eddie, least I think it was… Did you know him?” The look Javier leveled at him was unusually intense and Arthur tried to remember if his old friend was always like this and he’d just forgotten.

Abruptly, Javier again relaxed. “Yeah, Eddie was an asshole, didn’t really get along with most of the others.” Somehow, that didn’t make Arthur feel any better.

“Look, this guy, Amos,” another quick glance at the door behind him, “can you help me find him, or are you gonna get in trouble if you help me?”

Amused, “Get in trouble with who?”

“With whoever’s in charge of this whole operation.”

A smile slowly took over Javier’s face and he leaned forward. “Brother, you’re looking at him.” Arthur needed a moment to process that.

“You? _You’re_ the leader of the Mercer Boys?”

“I figured the ‘Javier Escuella Gang’ was a little too obvious.”

“How did you- what the hell happened after I last saw you?”

The question seemed to blindside Javier, and whatever tension there was in the room vanished as they thought back to that tumultuous time they last saw each other. “Man, lemme think about it… Charles took me back to the house and started helping the others get ready to leave. I couldn’t do much because of my leg, but Bill helped me.” He pulled a strange face Arthur couldn’t read at the name, but continued, “We hid out in a shack outside Rhodes for a few days; I don’t know how no one found us, he was coughing so much anyone walking by would’ve heard it. I really thought he was gonna die in there, but if he died, I woulda died too.

“Couple of days later we were outside of Strawberry and he fell off of Brown Jack coughing. That was the worst I’d seen him. I tried to help him back up, but he grabbed me and started coughing in my face, saying we were dead men anyway. I tried talking him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen. And I couldn’t get him back on the horse by myself because of my leg, so I had to go run to get help. By the time I found someone willing to come along, he was gone. Figured he kept going by himself, and died somewhere out in the woods.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, but sensing that Javier had spoken his peace and nothing else was forthcoming, Arthur simply stated, “Bill’s not dead.”

Javier gave him a doubtful look out of the corner of his eyes. “No, he’s gotta be. You didn’t see what I saw.”

“I didn’t, but I saw him today,” Arthur admitted. “And last night. He got picked up by a doctor who found him on the side of the road and nursed him back to health. Said you abandoned him.” His friend grew defensive at the accusation.

“No I didn’t! Probably should’ve, though…”

“What happened after that?” Javier sighed and tried to put aside this new information.

“Kept heading west, figured the further away from Lemoyne I could get, the better. Had to sell Boaz for money and snuck onto a train that took me out to Tumbleweed before I had to see a doctor. My leg was real bad, almost had to get it cut off, but I toughed it out as a beggar for a few months until I could walk on it again. Got a job in the mines at Gaptooth Breach until the Del Lobos killed all the bosses and turned it into a hideout. I managed to sneak out though. Spent a few years with odd jobs, but that was no way to live. So I turned to what I knew how to do best.”

“Started robbin' folk?” He tried unsuccessfully to hide the disappointment in his voice. Javier noticed.

“I _tried_ living clean, Arthur. Didn’t work for me. No one wanted to give money to a Mexican with a limp. But a Mexican with a gun pointed at their head, _that_ people will give money to.”

“Still doesn’t explain all this,” he gestured at the room they were in. Javier huffed and a faint smile came back as he reminisced on the matter.

“Started working with a few regulars and we kinda became a small gang. That kind of life still works out here, not like back east. I had the most experience after running with Dutch all those years so it made sense to make me the leader. There was another gang of older guys that used to live in this fort, but they were kind of on their way out anyway. We tricked them into coming outside and after we shot ‘em all, the place was ours. Word started spreading there was a new gang in town and guys started throwing themselves at the front door trying to get in.”

“Why’s it all young fellers?” He tried and failed to avoid thinking of Eddie’s eyes boring into his very soul.

Oblivious, Javier simply shrugged. “They’re bored, I guess. Not much else to do out here besides ranching and mining. And most of the older guys like us either work alone or are already dead.” Arthur hummed in acknowledgement; it wasn’t like he could really contest that observation. He cracked his knuckles apprehensively before steering the conversation back to more recent matters.

“So you gonna hold it against me that I killed one of your boys? It was either me or him,” he explained. Javier looked displeased and exhaled through his nose. He placed a hand over his eyes.

“I believe you. Did anyone see you do it?”

“The only ones who did are six feet under now.” Javier took his hand off his face and looked at him.

“Then keep it to yourself. I’m not gonna blame you for defending yourself. But I am curious what _you’ve_ been up to.” Arthur ran a hand over the back of his neck and tried summoning up his own recollection of the past five years.

“Well the day after Dutch died I went after the Blackwater money to stop Micah from getting it.”

Genuinely curious, “How’d you know where it was?”

“Dutch told me,” he responded sadly. Javier’s eyes went distant again, no doubt remembering that Arthur was the last one to speak to Dutch privately.

“Damn… Well what happened with Micah? You kick his ass?”

“Uhh…”

The truth was that the exact opposite happened. But Arthur could play with the truth a little.

“I almost had him, but John came in and stole the glory from me. Put six rounds in Micah’s chest when I had him right where I had him,” he said, patting his chest for effect.

“Damn. Wish I was there to see it. So you and John took all that money?” Like Bill, he wasn’t bothering to be subtle about his due share. And like Bill, he was entitled to some of it.

“We did, but we split it up with the others. Took a few years to track everyone down. Never found you and Bill though.” A pause, “Strauss neither, come to think of it, but he always rubbed me the wrong way anyway.” He chuckled at his own comment, but Javier didn’t join in.

“Don’t tell me you spent it all.” Arthur shook his head.

“No, John’s sitting on the bulk of it at his place. We built a house for him, outside Blackwater, and I bought a place not too far from it in Tall Trees.” He felt like it was an innocuous enough statement, but Javier physically reeled back in his chair at hearing it.

“What the hell are you guys doing that close to Blackwater?! It’s like you’re _asking_ for trouble. I still have never set foot in that _state_ again.” Arthur found himself wondering if his friend was right, if their current predicament could’ve been delayed or staved off indefinitely had they just picked a safer place to settle down. In retrospect, living just outside the scene of one of their most disastrous crimes seemed reckless.

“Well when you put it that way... Do you remember Agent Milton? The Pinkerton?” Javier instinctively clenched his jaw and pulled his brows down.

“The son of a bitch who killed Hosea. Pretty sure he’s the one who shot my leg too.”

“He found out where John lives. Kidnapped Jack, and said if he didn’t turn the rest of us in by the end of two months, they’d arrest John.”

Javier hummed in acknowledgement then jerked his chin up at Arthur. “So what, you need a place to hide from John? I’ll let you stay here.” The suggestion was so unexpected it felt like a slap in the face.

“What? No! He wants our help to get Jack back!”

“Why not just wait it out?,” he lazily gestured with his hands as if it were the obvious choice. “Once he gets arrested, you can go back to living your life.”

“Because John’s _part_ of my life, he’s my brother. Did you forget about family?,” Arthur growled as he leant forward in his seat. For his part, Javier didn’t so much as flinch.

“Sounds like _my_ family forgot about _me._ I had to make a new one these past few years.”

“We looked for you-“

“How hard?,” Javier interrupted. “While I was busting my ass off and turning back to crime it sounds like the rest of you were living easy off all that money.”

“No one knew where the hell you were!”

Shouting with sarcasm, “Well now you found me. Congratulations.” Then, lower and more pointedly, “What is it you want, Morgan?” Arthur made an intentional effort to calm down after the testy exchange.

“We’re gonna have a meeting in two days in Thieves’ Landing, and we’re gonna figure out what to do.”

“Okay. You know that’s a trap, right?,” he asked matter-of-factly.

“What do you mean?”

Javier held an upturned palm in the air as if he were presenting something. “You’re gonna get all the guys John needs to turn in together at one place? At the same time? That’s a trap, Arthur.”

“No it isn’t. It was _my_ idea, not his.”

With a raised eyebrow that had no humor in it, “Oh, so you just set up the trap _for_ him?”

“It’s not a trap! He’s not gonna pull shit in the middle of Del Lobo turf anyway, and it’s not like they’d let Pinkertons within 5 miles of that place.” It was the main reason Arthur had picked the place, one of his better spontaneous decisions as of late. Javier paused to think it over before speaking again quietly.

“You really think it’s safe?”

“I do,” he admitted, trying to sound as sincere as he could muster. “And I think if we all work together, we can get Jack back, none of us will go to jail, and we’ll figure out a way to deal with Milton.”

“Well we kill him first, then we can look for Jack without worrying about him,” Javier said, as if it were even a question.

“I don’t know that it’s that simple…”

“I’m telling you it is.” He huffed and smiled again. “Sounds like you do need me after all. Who’s gonna be there?”

“Me, you, John, Charles if John can manage to find him and… and Bill.” His friend’s smile faded yet again and gave way to something that almost looked like… concern?

“You said you saw him today?”

“Yeah.”

“What’d he say about me?”

“Well he’s mad. He thinks you abandoned him outside Strawberry on purpose. But I’m sure you can talk it-”

Javier cut him off, “I’m gonna bring some of my boys to this meeting then. You know, for protection.” Arthur licked his lips and narrowed his eyes.

“You think that’s a good idea? Bringing a posse onto Del Lobo turf?”

“I don’t even really wanna go to this, but if you’re telling me I can’t bring some backup, I’m definitely not going.”

He sighed and leaned back, feeling defeated. “Alright, fine, that’s fair.” 

They both reclined, but neither of them were truly comfortable. There was still one large matter to address.

“So. This feller Amos.”

“I can’t give him to you,” Javier said flatly.

“He dead?”

He shook his head, “He was still kicking last time I checked about an hour ago.”

“Then why not?”

“My boys are out for blood, Arthur. They wanted to go in guns blazing and burn down the whole ranch after what happened, but the sheriff can only turn a blind eye to so much. We don’t need that kind of attention. But now that they got your guy, they think they can trick that woman into coming out looking for him.”

_Nate was right._

“Bonnie’s not coming,” Arthur lied. “She wanted to, but I told her to stay back, that I’d handle it.”

Javier seemed skeptical. “You told her you’d take on an entire gang for one guy? For an old ranch hand?”

“Have you ever known me to be a smart feller?” Javier thought about it and raised his eyebrows in concession.

“No. Only an idiot would go out and put himself between a mama bear and her cubs.”

Arthur rolled his shoulder for effect. “You’re just provin' my point.”

“Guess I am,” he chuckled.

“So you didn’t tell your boys to do this? They just did it on their own?”

“I’m not giving them orders every day. Dutch let us do our own jobs all the time, remember? It’s kinda like that.”

“Well if it’s 'kinda like that', then they’ll do whatever you tell 'em to.” Javier held a hand up to his forehead, signalling he was getting tired of this conversation. Arthur had to start wrapping this up before he overstayed his welcome.

“And why would I tell them to hand your guy over?,” he asked tiredly.

“As a favor for me.”

Javier met his challenging glare with his own. The debt in question did not need to be spoken aloud. They were both thinking back to that botched train robbery when Micah betrayed the remnants of the gang. On the night Dutch died, Arthur had rescued him, Javier, Charles and Bill from being transported to Sisika Penitentiary where their sentence would have been certain death.

Javier slowly shook his head, “No. I’m going to this _meeting_ as a favor for you.”

“I invited you to that meeting because Milton wants you, either in jail or at the end of a rope. We can have that meeting with or without you,” he pointed out. Javier frowned.

“You really want this guy that bad?” Arthur nodded sternly. They continued staring each other down for several seconds before Javier broke first. “Fine. I don’t get it, but you can have him.”

“Thank y-”

“In an hour.”

Arthur tried to hide his irritation. “Why an hour?”

“I gotta talk my boys down, make them think it was their idea to let him go. I can’t just let a prisoner walk free for nothing, that’ll make me look weak.” Javier stood up and began walking towards the door, but Arthur remained seated, despite his growing frustration.

“So what should I do in the meantime?”

“You’re gonna wait in here. A bunch of the guys saw you walk in here, and they think I’m interviewing you or something. I can’t have you leave and just wait outside for an hour, that’ll look suspicious and one of them will probably shoot at you.”

It made sense, but he still didn’t like it.

“I’ll wait here then,” he sighed.

“Alright, I gotta put on my mean boss face.” Javier rolled his neck and shoulders in preparation for going back outside in front of his gang. However he did cast one last parting glance at his old friend. “Nice talking to you, Arthur.” They both wished it could’ve been under better circumstances.

“Yeah, you too, Jav.”

* * *

Arthur waited dutifully in the room. The light that seeped under the gap in the door frame had changed from the bright golds and oranges of the setting sun and were replaced by more artificial lantern and torch light, but other than that he had no good gauge for how much time had actually passed. He suspected that if Bonnie and her two hands had gotten antsy and tried to spring a rescue, he would’ve heard that kind of commotion, and the lack of excitement outside told him that they had the good sense to wait for him.

When the door finally opened, Javier slipped inside and hushed to Arthur, “Follow me. And play along.”

They both exited the room and Arthur was faced with a small crowd in the main plaza he’d been led through earlier. All eyes were on Amos however, shirtless, bruised, bleeding and battered on the ground. He could barely hold his weight up on his elbows.

“Alright, Kilgore,” Javier addressed Arthur, loud enough for all to hear. “You wanna run with the Mercer Boys? Your first job is to get this guy to the MacFarlane Ranch out east. You know where that is?” Arthur quickly nodded. “Good. Tell that bitch Bonnie to stop patrolling past her property or she’s gonna end up looking like this guy!” He pointed at Amos for effect and a small cheer broke out among the Mercer Boys.

“Yeah, I can do that.” Arthur approached Amos who eyed him cautiously. He was about to help the older man up himself before remembering he had to play up a character. “Come on, get up you old bastard.”

He winked, and Amos groaned, but knew this was his only chance at survival so with great effort he hoisted himself to his feet and ambled towards the door that some other men had begun opening.

“You better not bleed on my horse,” Arthur added, really trying to sell the ruse, and it seemed to work. Once they were outside the walls and farther away from the lamplights he let Amos lean on him as they trudged out into the dark desert to look for Ivy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy reunions are all fine and dandy, but you know what's better? We-used-to-be-friends-but-now-new-factors-are-making-everything-complicated reunions.
> 
> I recognize that I'm kind of lifting the premise of RDR1 in this work and that Javier was an explicit antagonist in that game, but I don't want to go with that same route here so much as paint him as someone who's own goals and ideas don't align with the main characters' end goals. But that mismatch can easily lead to tension, and I wanted to showcase that here. Arthur and Javier aren't enemies towards each other, but they do want different things, and that is gonna cause some conflict.
> 
> It's also hard to get a good sense of the pacing while writing all of this. I'm beginning to feel like this first act before the Thieves' Landing meeting is taking too long, but maybe it'll feel right in context when the overall work is complete. In any case, I think we can safely wrap up this Mercer Boys subplot and start focusing on the main story beats with Milton.


	9. The Impasse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Van der Linde Gang reunites in Thieves' Landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I've written a conversation that has six active participants and hoo boy was that a struggle!
> 
> Think I'm gonna try sticking to a Saturday posting schedule from now on, and then maybe posting more frequently again once it's all finished being written. Right now I feel like that Wallace and Gromit GIF where he's on the train and constantly putting the next piece of rail down in front of him as he goes.
> 
> This chapter picks up the same night that the previous chapter left off.
> 
> _UPDATE- This chapter was updated for minor edits on 11/26/2020_

It took the collective effort of Arthur, Jacob, and Mickey to restrain Bonnie from marching back towards Fort Mercer by herself. She was enraged at the sight of Amos’ injuries, and rightfully so, but Arthur was considering it a miracle he managed to get the older man out from the clutches of the gang at all. Ultimately it was Amos’ own pleading to go home that convinced Bonnie to not throw herself against the walls of the old fort.

While he was lending his shoulder to lean on and helping Amos over to Bonnie’s horse, Arthur heard the older hand mutter a quiet and humbled, “thank you.” In response, Arthur merely patted him on the back gently, but said nothing. The four horses kicked off into the night air shortly thereafter.

* * *

_Knock knock knock_

“Al, it’s me.”

Arthur leaned his side against the doorframe and looked over the railing down into the saloon’s ground level. He’d gotten back much earlier in the night than he’d expected, and the venue was in full swing with some regular faces he was beginning to recognize. It’d be another two or three hours before things started to quiet down by his estimate. He could feel the floorboards vibrate beneath his feet as footsteps approached the door from the other side and soon found himself face-to-face with a relieved Albert who quickly ushered him into the room.

“Are you alright? Did you get in? What happened?” He circled Arthur who was standing in the middle of the cramped room and paled at the sight of the bloody green vest.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Amos got a little blood on your vest though, but he’ll live. They’re bringin' him back to the ranch now.”

Albert’s left arm was no longer in a sling, a sign that he was getting ready to turn in for the evening. With both hands he carefully took the vest and inspected the dark wet spots, frowned, then set it aside on the desk. Arthur took this brief opportunity to set his repeater and shotgun propped up in a corner of the room and got to work on removing his gun belt.

Albert asked in a soft voice, “You don’t have to tell me, but did anyone…? Was anyone hurt?”

Gently placing the gun belt on the floor, “Amos got roughed up pretty good, but he was the only one. Not a shot was fired.” He turned to face Albert who raised his eyebrows in shock.

“That’s amazing. Since when are _you_ such a diplomat?”

“Since never. Just helps when you find out you know the leader of the Mercer Boys and he owes you a favor.” Albert’s relief turned to cautious skepticism.

“You’re joking,” he deadpanned.

“Not this time. Turns out Javier’s making a name for himself in New Austin,” he replied with an unbelieving smile of his own.

“You are full of surprises,” he mused with warm affection. “So it’s over?”

“Think so. There’s gotta be a damn good reason for me to leave this room the rest of the night.” Albert huffed in amusement and met his eyes mischievously.

“There’d have to be a damned good reason for me to let you leave.”

Taking care not to raise his left shoulder too high, Albert approached and brought Arthur into a gentle hug, nestling each others’ faces in the crooks of their necks. Arthur was reminded of how the other man smelled like _home_ and could almost feel the worry and tension they both had been carrying all day melt away. He was about to see just how mischievous Albert was feeling when the other man pulled away from him and yawned.

“I do know one thing though,” Albert said, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes, “I am definitely ready to go home.”

Arthur paused.

“Already?” Albert was halfway to his bed when he glanced back at Arthur with a touch of annoyance.

“What do you mean ‘already?’ We’ve been away for almost two weeks. And… distractions aside, I did manage to get quite a few shots I’m comfortable with. I’d like to get back to the house and start developing them.”

Arthur fidgeted with his hands at his sides and opted to thumb his belt loops and try to act casual instead. “You don’t wanna go somewhere else to take more pictures?”

“Arthur, I don’t have any film left, I couldn’t if I wanted to.” Then, quieter, “And I’m running low on money if I’m being honest; I didn’t bring much from the house because I didn’t think we’d be gone for this long.”

“Well how about we… I don’t know, go out camping a few nights? That don’t cost nothing.”

“Or how about… _we go home.”_ There was an unmistakable edge of irritation creeping into Albert’s voice.

“I don’t wanna go home yet.” There was no way Arthur could have delivered the line without arousing suspicion and he rightly found himself pinned down under narrowed eyes.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but _I_ do. I say we leave tomorrow, maybe take a break at Bonnie’s ranch for a night and we’ll be back home on Thursday,” Albert said definitively.

“I had something planned for Thursday.”

Dismissively throwing a hand in the air, “Okay. Well, you go do that, and I’ll head back on my own.” Albert turned his back and began pulling back the sheets of his bed to climb into.

“I’m not letting you leave me.”

The photographer stopped. He slowly pivoted to face Arthur, still lingering awkwardly in the corner by the guns.

_“Excuse me?”_

“It’s just… it’s not safe for you to leave me.”

“‘Not safe?’ Why not?”

“Something bad might happen to you.”

He took a step forward to come around from this side of the bed and try to comfort his husband. Instead, Albert flinched impulsively at the movement, causing them both to freeze.

“Arthur, you’re scaring me.” There was an almost imperceptible waver in his voice that someone who didn’t know Albert so well wouldn’t have noticed.

Slowly, he raised his hands as if surrendering, but he stayed at this distance. “I’m not tryin' to scare you.”

“You’re failing spectacularly at that… Look, if this is about that stupid fight with John, I’ll tell him myself to leave you alone. But staying away from the house altogether seems extreme to me. And I don’t understand why _I’m_ getting wrapped up in it.”

Arthur swallowed. _Guess it’s time I told him._

“I didn’t tell you the whole truth about that day.”

“That’s apparent,” Albert observed.

“I don’t think it’s safe to go home because... I think Pinkertons might’ve found out where I live. Or they will soon.”

“...And why is that?”

“Because they found out where John lived.”

Albert’s eyes began darting around with those quick little movements they only did when he was thinking intently about something. No doubt he was making great mental leaps and assumptions in that moment, but he still pressed on the conversation before his thoughts consumed him.

“How do you know?”

“He told me. That day he came by the house, they had just kidnapped Jack from Abigail. They’re giving John two months to turn in the rest of the old gang or they’re gonna arrest him.”

Confused by the onrush of new information, Albert held a hand up. “Wait, _who_ kidnapped Jack? The Pinkertons? That can’t be legal.”

“Half the shit we did in the gang wasn’t legal!,” Arthur stressed. “But now they’re using him to get John to come after me and the boys.” He could almost see the gears in Albert’s head fit together and turn in real time.

“So you wanted to come west to find Bill and Javier to warn them. And you knew I wanted to come out here for my new project. _You took advantage of me,”_ he realized, sounding betrayed.

“I didn’t take advantage of you,” Arthur tried. Albert wasn’t backing down however.

“But you knew about this this whole time,” he pointed out.

“I didn’t wanna worry you.”

“But you were comfortable _lying_ to me?” More of an accusation than a question.

Growing slightly frustrated, “I didn’t lie about the fight he and I had. He said I ‘didn’t know what it was like to lose a son,’ and that’s what started it.” Albert blanched momentarily that John would say that, but soon found his own anger again.

“No, but you lied and misled me about everything else.” He slowly shook his head in disgust, “And you invoked your _dead family_ to do it. How convenient for you to play off my sympathies.”

Something dangerous stirred within Arthur and his temper flashed in a way Albert had never been the target of.

In a menacing growl, “Don’t you dare-“

“Dare what?! Speak the truth? Tell me I’m wrong.” Arthur fumed in the corner but said nothing so Albert shouted, “Tell me I’m wrong!”

“Alright, fine! I lied! But I was doin' it to protect you!” Albert barked a sarcastic laugh at that.

“Oh really? That’s rich. Because I haven’t felt safe since we left the _house!”_

“I’m tryin' my best, alright?!”

Pointing at his wounded shoulder, _“This_ is you trying your best?!”

“Coulda gone a lot worse!”

“Could have gone a lot better, too!”

A loud knocking boomed from an adjacent wall, followed by a muffled, “shut up!” from the tenant renting the adjacent room. Arthur was angry enough to punch a hole in the wall and pull the guy through it. He would’ve made to walk out the room to kick down the stranger’s door had Albert’s pained sigh not reached his ears first. Looking across the room, he watched Albert frown and cover his eyes with his hand. Deeming that it wasn’t worth risking getting kicked out of the establishment and having to find lodging elsewhere, Arthur clenched his fists until they hurt, but remained in place. The tense atmosphere lingered silently for almost a minute and a half before one of them finally spoke again.

Quietly, and not a little exhausted, Albert asked, “Why couldn’t you have just been honest with me?”

Never one to waste an olive branch, even if it was temporary, Arthur tried to signal that he wasn’t interested in fighting anymore either. He placed his back against the wall and slid down to be seated on the floor, forearms resting on his knees. He couldn’t make eye contact when he responded.

“I was afraid you’d leave me.” The sincerity of the answer seemed to rob Albert of words for a few moments.

“Why would I leave you?”

“Cause that’d be the smart thing to do... I did a lot of bad things before I knew you, Al. And I thought I could leave them behind me, but I can’t.”

Carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal that could suddenly lash out without warning, Albert took a seat at the edge of Arthur’s bed.

“Of course you can. You’ve made yourself into a new man since leaving the gang, I watched you do it.”

“Don’t mean a damn thing if people like Milton keep comin' after me. And even if we deal with him, someone else will come up eventually. People got long memories, and I made a lot of enemies.”

Albert subtly nodded his head, as if agreeing with the statement but not thinking it was a big deal. He turned to look down at Arthur on the floor. “Then they’re my enemies too.” At that, they finally locked eyes again.

“That’s not fair to you though. I don’t want you getting hurt over my mistakes.”

“And I don’t want _you_ to face your mistakes alone. Arthur, I promised you I’d spend the rest of my life with you, I’m not gonna tuck my tail and run just because things get inconvenient.”

 _“Inconvenient?_ Al, you almost _died,”_ Arthur stressed. Albert was undeterred.

“‘Almost dead’ is not ‘dead,’” he smiled weakly and an unexpected chuckle escaped Arthur.

“Now where have I heard that one before?”

“Sounds like the kind of thing a very intelligent man might say.”

“Intelligent? Maybe. Humble? Definitely not.” They shared a soft laugh together. Once the moment had passed however, Albert sadly looked down at his folded hands.

“You make things so difficult sometimes. You never have to hide things from me, I’ll always understand.” Arthur opened his mouth and tried to speak but didn’t know exactly what to say. He cursed himself for never having a good way with words, but Albert waited patiently for the eventual response.

“I was too afraid this time. I thought this would finally be too much for you and then… Al, my life would not make sense without you in it.” When he finally dared to look up at the photographer again, he saw that his eyes were glassy and affectionate.

“For five years now I’ve been trying to tell you how much I love you and what a wonderful man you are. And here I thought I’d finally drilled that into your head, but apparently not,” he said with a wistful smile that Arthur couldn’t help but return.

“I might need five more years for it to really sink in.”

“I’ll give you a hundred years of my life if that’s what it takes.” Albert slid off the bed and sat on the floor, opposite Arthur and held both his hands with his own. “Let me help you. Let me _love_ you, _please,_ Arthur.”

Arthur did not profess to understand to know how the universe worked or why it saw fit to let him have this wonderful man in his life whose soul was so bright. By all accounts he didn’t deserve someone half as kind and understanding and loving as Albert, yet here he was. It was at that moment he decided he would stop trying to get in his own way before he lost the only good thing left in his life.

When he went to speak, he found his throat tightened with emotion, but he still managed to eke out, “Okay... I will.”

Albert squeezed his fingers. “Okay. I’m holding you to that.”

Giving a gentle squeeze back, “I know you will.” Albert finally let go and leaned his back against the side of Arthur’s bed, but opted to stay on the floor with him since he was already down there. He thumbed away the wetness that built up in his eyes and Arthur mirrored the action.

“So what _is_ your secret plan?”

“It’s not much. I’m supposed to meet up with John and Charles in Thieves’ Landing in two days. Think I convinced Bill and Javier to come as well, but they don’t know the other one is coming.”

“And there’s some bad blood there, right?”

“Still is, yeah.”

Sarcastically, “Wonderful. What is the point of this meeting?”

Arthur shrugged lamely. “Try to come up with a plan.” Albert furrowed his brows.

“Wait. Your plan all along was to come up with a different plan?”

Running a hand over the back of his neck, “Well, yeah. Didn’t wanna make any decisions without tellin' the boys.” Albert yielded the point with a hum.

“I suppose that makes sense. Well now that you’ve got your best asset, I’m certain you’ll have a solid plan by the end of this reunion.”

“What’s my best asset?,” he asked.

Albert confidently cocked his head and smirked. “I am.” Arthur raised his eyebrows in amusement and huffed.

“You certainly can be an ass sometimes...”

“Oh come on, is that the best you can come up with?”

“Lemme sleep on it, I’ll come up with a good one in the morning.” He grunted as he lifted himself off of the floor and gave Albert a hand up once he was standing.

“No, I know you, you’re gonna forget about this whole exchange when you wake up.”

“Name one thing I’ve ever forgotten,” he challenged.

“Well if I told you, you wouldn’t remember it,” Albert quipped as he started walking back to his bed on the other side of the small room. Before he got to it, he paused and asked, “Do you want to push the beds together tonight?”

“You really waited until the last night here to ask that?”

Feigning hurt feelings, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No, fine let’s do it.” He got in position and ready to push the bed, but looked expectantly at the other man. “You gonna help or what?”

“Oh, I said do _you_ want to push the beds together. Besides, Doctor Nate said to ‘avoid strenuous activity,’ remember?” He grinned facetiously and gestured for Arthur to get to work.

“You tellin’ me I gotta put up with a hundred more years of _this_ bullshit?...,” he muttered as he shoved the beds together.

* * *

_9/7/04_

_Going to Thieves’ Landing tomorrow. I have no idea what to expect or if anyone will even show up, but we have to try_ _something._ _Hopefully John at least figured out where Jack is. Poor kid. Poor Abigail!_

_Albert finally figured out my ruse and why I made us leave the house. I told him everything and he got mad, even madder than after the cougar fight, but he still forgave me. For some reason I continue to be the luckiest man alive._

_[Sketch of Albert at his tripod, left arm in a sling, and looking through the camera lens.]_

* * *

Thieves’ Landing wasn’t so much a town in the traditional sense as much as it was a collection of five or six small buildings containing a few dozen transient residents. It lay near the border of New Austin and West Elizabeth, but far from any large settlement that would have the manpower or willpower to do anything about the illicit activities that everyone knew occurred there. It was a good place for a bad man to lay low for a while, which is precisely why Arthur had never brought Albert here, despite being closer to their home than even Blackwater was.

It was a short ride from the MacFarlane Ranch, even at the slower pace they still needed to take for Albert’s shoulder, but they still intentionally arrived late, about an hour after the sun had gone down. They had stayed the previous night in the guest room inside the large house that Bonnie had graciously set them up in; there was only one bed, but they assured her that it would not be an issue and for whatever reason, she believed them. It was also considerably cooler and more comfortable than the separate guest house that they had spent over a week in, and Arthur had ample time to commit his thoughts to his journal. He even finally christened it with his first sketch of Albert, and he was surprised it had taken him so long; one could barely go three or four pages in his old journal without seeing the photographer’s likeness in some pose or another. It felt almost therapeutic to sketch his lover again after so long.

Amos had been cognizant when Arthur visited him, but they didn’t say much, not that he was expecting some extended conversation. However the older man did lament how inefficient the rest of the hands would be in his absence and half-seriously asked if Arthur would step in for him until he got back on his feet. Arthur declined.

The closest thing resembling a bar in the settlement was an unnamed building that had a sign mounted to it that simply read, “Hostel - Food and Lodging.” Arthur had never specified exactly where within Thieves’ Landing they would meet, but it was a small enough place that he thought John would have the good sense to figure it out. If he didn’t, Charles definitely would. 

He and Albert entered the building to find a relatively small bar along the right wall, some tables and chairs haphazardly scattered in a central area, and four doors on the left wall, presumably rooms for rent. A group at the table farthest from the door, Del Lobos most likely, eyed the two men suspiciously before resuming their conversation. Albert took a seat at a table much closer to the front door, sticking out like a sore thumb among the rest of the clientele.

“What’ll you have?,” Arthur asked.

“Just a water for tonight I think.”

“You sure? Hate to say it but the beer’ll probably be cleaner.”

Albert swept his eyes across the dimly-lit place and took in the general atmosphere and cleanliness, or lack thereof. He likely came to the same conclusion because he pulled a face before replying, “You may be right. Fine, just one beer then.”

Drinks procured, the two of them sat down and did their best to ignore the group of men on the opposite side of the room who continually cast mean glances at them

“Charming lot,” Albert quietly mused.

“Just don’t look at ‘em.”

Albert complied, but still drummed his fingers in the table anxiously. “I know the sign outside said ‘Food and _Lodging’,_ but…”

“We’re not stayin’ here, no way.”

Nodding subtly, “Just making sure we’re on the same page.”

They were situated such that the wall with all of the rooms was to their backs, allowing a clear line of sight to the front door. Consequently, they both saw Bill at the same time as he entered. He tipped his hat at them, and made way for Nate to follow after him. The doctor was openly brandishing the same pistol at his side that Arthur had found himself staring down the barrel of during their first meeting.

“Hey! You!”

One of the men at the far end of the bar shouted out at the newcomers. Surprisingly, Bill waved in acknowledgement and Nate actually lit up with joy.

“Cortez! I don’t believe it! How the hell are you?,” the doctor beamed. He immediately marched over to the strangers and bypassed Arthur and Albert entirely to begin shaking hands.

Bill didn’t follow, but seemed relaxed anyway as he took a seat. “Fellers,” he nodded.

“Good evening, Bill,” Albert said politely. Arthur was still watching Nate across the room however.

“What’s that about?” Bill followed his gaze and began explaining in a hushed tone.

“Former patient, Ramón Cortez I think his name was? Nate and I saved his life a few years back, then I heard the guy went on to become one of the top Del Lobo leaders.”

They all looked over at Nate, who had taken a seat with the other group and was inspecting a patch of skin on the stomach of the man who had called him over. “Oh that healed up nicely. It’s not like most people will see it anyway. I had one guy once, poor son of a gun got in an ugly knife fight…”

Bill brought the conversation back to their table, “He’ll be fine over there. You two make it in alright? No more trouble?”

“Naw, been pretty quiet,” Arthur admitted.

“Well that’s... good.” Bill has never been much of a conversationalist, but there was still an edge to his voice and his constant fidgeting and shifting in his seat was difficult not to notice.

Arthur asked, “You nervous?” Bill looked squarely at him and swallowed uneasily.

“A bit… You said John and Charles were coming, right? Haven’t seen ‘em in what, five years? I know they didn’t really like me much back then so it’s gonna be weird is all.”

“Nah, you’ll be fine. People change, and they’ve both mellowed out. Kinda like you,” he dismissed.

Bill huffed as he stood up to get a drink. “I guess people can change, seein' as you don’t smell half as bad as you used to.”

Albert stifled a laugh and took a long pull from his drink in an attempt to hide a smirk.

When Bill returned Arthur found himself sandwiched between two men who were doing anything to avoid eye contact with each other. He felt like he was pulling teeth trying to keep up some small talk, especially once it was obvious that Nate was firmly entrenched with the Del Lobos and wouldn’t be coming to rescue the conversation anytime soon. Thankfully this only continued for about ten minutes before another familiar face walked through the door.

Charles took his time crossing the threshold and only seemed to relax once he caught sight of his friends who stood up to approach him. Deeming it safe, he motioned behind him for John to follow after. John looked… well he looked awful. Dark circles under his eyes signaled a lack of sleep, and even in the amber lamplight of the bar his skin looked pale. He hardly had a reaction at all at seeing his brother.

Albert approached the first man and shook his hand. “Charles, always good to see you.”

“You too, Albert.” Gesturing at his own chin, “You got a few more grays since I last saw you.”

Through a forced smile, “Yes. I am _well aware,_ thank you...”

Arthur pulled his brother in for a quick embrace and found it to be quite stiff. “How’re you holdin' up?,” he asked so only they could hear.

“I’m fine,” John lied as he pulled away. He seemed distant and distracted until he saw something over Arthur’s shoulder and a genuine reaction finally appeared on his face. _“Bill?_ Holy shit, you’re alive?”

Bill was standing awkwardly behind his chair, as if it was some kind of shield that would protect him. “Somehow, yeah.” He cast a quick unsure glance at Arthur for reassurance, but it wasn’t necessary as John stepped forward and surprised him with a hug.

“First bit of good news I’ve heard in a while.”

“Morgan told me what happened. That son of a bitch is gonna pay for what he did,” Bill sneered. John gave Arthur behind him an amused look.

“I feel a little better already.” He took the long way around the table to greet Albert, stealing him away from Charles and leaving Bill to address the other newcomer.

“Charles,” he tried with a wave.

Charles only met this with a frosty “Bill,” and a head nod, but kept his distance and kept any surprise he might have felt to himself. Instead he opted to come closer to Arthur with a quick embrace and they clapped arms over each others’ backs. Bill awkwardly took his seat and waited.

“Didn’t think _he_ was coming,” Charles murmured to Arthur while they were close.

“Hey, he deserves to be here too, his name’s on that list. Play nice.” Charles hummed but said nothing so Arthur jerked his chin over towards John asked in a whisper, “How’s he doin'? Be honest.” Charles subtly shook his head.

“It’s bad, not like when he used to get moody. You need to talk to him after this.”

“I will,” he promised. As Charles made a concerted effort to take a seat opposite from Bill, Arthur looked over to the other two men. Albert had his good hand resting on John’s shoulder, who was looking down towards the ground. He couldn’t make out the hushed words, but Albert quickly wrapped up whatever he was saying and John nodded in agreement.

“Thanks, Al,” he said as he took a seat between Charles and Bill, who were almost comically trying not to acknowledge each other. John was oblivious however, and asked the man to his left, “We all thought you were dead. Where’ve you been?”

“I uh, I live in Armadillo now. The dry air helps my lungs, you see. I went clean and now I’m a doctor’s assistant.”

Charles appeared to take a slight interest in that. “You’re helping people now?” Bill ran a hand over the back of his neck.

“Well I mean my boss, the doctor, he’s the one doing all the work, I’m just pinning people down to the chair so they don’t wrestle away from him.” John raised a playful eyebrow.

“So your job is to climb on top of men and hold them down with your body? That sounds like something you’d like,” he teased. Charles awkwardly cleared his throat.

“Marston…,” Arthur warned. His brother relented, but didn’t apologize. Bill just balled his hands into fists and stared down at his bottle.

“So tell me,” Albert attempted to rescue the conversation, “Was it hard finding Charles?”

John huffed and shook his head. _“Hard?_ I was starting to think maybe I made him up in my head. Whenever I asked for him, no one knew who I was talking about.”

“I found _him_ once I heard someone was looking for me,” Charles explained proudly. “But I waited a day or two before I finally came up to him. Wanted to see if he could find me on his own.”

“And I couldn’t…”

“Where _are_ you staying now?,” Albert inquired. “I know you show up sometimes to spend a week or two with us, and you’re always welcome to, but where do you go afterwards?”

“I’d rather not say,” Charles answered. Arthur knew that meant the line of questioning was effectively over at that; the Van der Linde gang had all kinds of stubborn characters, but Charles took the crown in being unwavering once his mind was set on something.

“Bet you he goes and hangs with Sadie,” he joked, getting laughs from everyone but Bill. Before the doctor’s assistant could question what was so funny about that, the door opened again.

Three young men wearing grimaces that were trying way too hard to appear tough and openly brandishing revolvers entered the bar. They cast what they probably thought were withering glares at anyone in the room, drunk or sober, Del Lobo or otherwise, but the desired effect fell flat and just seemed amateurish. They soon parted and made room for Javier to get a good look of the place for himself.

“Javier? I don’t believe it!” John and Charles stood up to greet their old friend. Bill snapped his head to his left to stare down Arthur.

“What the _hell_ is he doin’ here, Morgan?,” he growled.

“I found him after I last saw you and didn’t have a chance to tell you,” he explained in a whisper.

“Well I’m out. I told you I was leavin’ if he came.” Bill got up to rise and Arthur all but leapt on him to force him back down into the chair.

“Sit yer ass down. We _need_ you here.” Bill was steaming but his face went slack when he heard his name.

“Hey, Bill.”

Javier stood a safe distance away, hands resting on his belt, close enough to his holstered guns to send a message. His three companions that he brought with him mirrored the pose. Arthur noted that these weren’t the same three men who met him outside of the front entrance to Fort Mercer, but didn’t know what to make of that.

A pause, then a strained and acknowledging, “Javier.”

“Long time no see.” He sounded like he was making an earnest effort to be friendly, but Javier was always a better actor than most of the rest of the boys. Bill promptly swatted down the attempt however.

“Not long enough if you ask me.”

John had taken his seat again, but sensed the tension and was ready to rise again if need be. He looked between his two former gangmates. “What’s going on between you two?”

“He left me to die on the side of the road!,” Bill barked, pointing a finger.

Trying to defend himself, Javier said, “That’s not what happened! I had to leave you to get help, but you were gone by the time I came back!”

“Bullshit. You got mad when I coughed on you on accident.”

 _“Accident?_ You did it on purpose, said we were ‘dead men anyway!’” Bill reeled his head back and twisted his face in shock.

“I _never_ said that!”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Arthur found himself rising to his feet and raising his voice louder than he wanted to. There weren’t many other patrons in the bar, but the ones that were conscious were all looking at this little squabble that was happening near the entrance. He continued at a normal speaking volume, “This ain’t why we’re here. We’re tryin' to figure out how to get John’s son back, remember?”

John looked down somberly at the table, as if he was just being reminded of that fact himself. Arthur cautiously looked over at the table of Del Lobos, who he was most concerned about having an issue with all of these strangers in their bar, but Nate quickly grabbed their attention back and had them chuckling about some new story.

Charles slid closer to Albert and made room between himself and John to clear a space for Javier to sit. He did, and his three Mercer Boys took a seat at an adjacent table, close to him. Javier sent one last scowl at Bill before turning to size up Albert. “Who’s this guy?”

All eyes fell to Albert, then to Arthur.

“He’s uh… he’s a friend of mine. We can trust him.”

Javier seemed skeptical, but thankfully John added, “He’s a friend. I want him here.”

“Albert Mason, how do you do?” He reached across Charles and stuck out a hand. Javier stared at it before shaking it with a plastered-on smile.

“Javier Escuela. Nice to meet you. So John, how’re we gonna kill Milton?” The question was delivered nonchalantly, as if he were asking what the weather was like yesterday.

“No one said nothin’ about killing Milton just yet,” Arthur said. At his right, Bill piped up.

“I thought that was why we were here?”

“We’re here because my son is missing!,” John stressed, sounding increasingly agitated.

Albert suggested, “John, maybe start from the beginning for all of us.” He sighed, but began explaining.

“After the gang broke up Abigail and I bought a plot of land outside Blackwater and these guys,” gesturing to the three men on the opposite side of the table from him, “helped me build a house. This was four years ago. We’ve been living there with no problems, under a different name. Two weeks back Abigail took Jack into town to sign him up for school, but four Pinkertons came up to her and two of them took Jack away from her. The other two brought her back to the house and told us that I had two months to bring in five names or they’d arrest me.” 

Javier did a quick headcount around the table and asked Albert, “Are you the fifth name?”

“Me? Heavens no! At least I hope not; I doubt this Milton fellow even knows I exist.”

“So who’s the fifth name?”

“Micah,” Arthur answered. “But he’s dead.”

“And you’re _sure_ about that, Morgan?” Bill seemed particularly uneasy about the possibility of Micah still being alive.

“He’s _dead,”_ John stated definitively. “I killed him myself.”

“I watched him do it,” Arthur added.

“And I saw the aftermath…,” Albert continued morbidly. Javier rubbed a hand over his chin.

“Then why would Milton include his name on the list? Why not someone else like Sadie? She killed a _bunch_ of his guys during the bank robbery.”

Arthur frowned as his mind revisited the memory of Hosea’s last performance, the last time he saw him alive. Before all hell broke out on that city street. It still wasn’t easy to think back on.

“I have no clue,” John admitted, sounding exhausted.

“Well where’s Milton now?,” Bill asked. John repeated himself with more exasperation.

“I don’t _know,_ alright? I don’t know anything right now. I haven’t even seen Abigail since this all happened, there could be Pinkertons crawling all over my ranch right now.”

Javier threw his hands up and leaned back in his chair. “So we don’t have any clues?”

“I might have one.”

All eyes fell on Charles as he reached into his satchel and procured a folded letter from it and placed it in the middle of the table.

“I didn’t tell you about this, John. I wanted to wait until we were all here.” Albert reached forward, unfolded the letter and began reading it, adding his own emphasis where he felt it was warranted.

“Dear Mr. Smith. It is commonly known that the infamous Van der Linde gang, of which you were a member of, disbanded in the summer of 1899 when your leader died. However there are many crimes committed by various surviving members of the gang that have to date gone unpunished. I am offering you an opportunity to cooperate with my agency, and in return I can offer you clemency and potentially even _an expunged criminal record_ depending on your performance.

“I ask that you apprehend the following five members and deliver them directly to my custody: Marion ‘Bill’ Williamson, Javier Escuela, John Marston, Micah Bell, and Arthur Morgan. I have retained a powerful new client who is bankrolling this new operation to seek out the remnants of your gang, but I believe we can help each other. Please respond to the address below and we will coordinate a time and date for the exchanges of the above-mentioned names. Sincerely, Agent Andrew Milton.”

The table was silent.

Finally after several seconds John spoke up. “Wait, why did you get a different list with _my_ name on it?”

“I don’t know,” Charles admitted. “This letter was waiting for me at the Wapiti Reservation. It’s the only place I tell the others to send mail to, so somehow he found that out.”

“What ‘others?’,” Javier asked. Charles looked to his left.

“The rest of the gang. Tilly, Pearson, Miss Grimshaw; we all keep in touch through letters.”

Bill spoke to Javier, “We weren’t invited to be pen pals.” Then to the others, “So one of ‘em sold you out. Who do you think it was?”

“I don’t know that we know that,” Albert said. “Arthur would’ve gotten a letter as well if that were the case. I mean presumably Milton wouldn’t pit only John and Charles against each other; he likely would make the same offer to all of you if he knew how to contact you three,” he gestured at Arthur, Javier and Bill.

“Milton didn’t make me an offer, he made me a _threat,”_ John pointed out.

“True, but only because he had leverage over you. It sounds like if Charles had any close family that Milton could’ve kidnapped as well, he would’ve. Same goes for the rest of you.” John wrinkled his nose in thought.

“So you think he’s trying to offer the same deal to all of us?,” he asked. Albert shrugged.

“It sounds to me like he’s trying to get you all to turn on each other and do most of the work for him. Which isn’t an awful idea from his perspective, but maybe he didn’t count on us having this meeting and trying to work something else out.”

No one spoke for a bit after that. Arthur looked around at his friends and caught them doing the same. Did he really trust these men to not stab him in the back for their own chance of freedom?

Should he be thinking about turning _them_ in?

He mentally chastised himself for even thinking about it as soon as the thought crossed his mind, but he could certainly see how easy it was, how tempting it was to imagine a future where he didn’t have to worry about his past. From a legal standpoint, anyway. No more hiding under fake names, no more tensing up whenever a lawman looked at him for too long, no more checking for bounty posters with his face on them whenever he passed through an old town he’d once wrecked havoc upon.

He tried forcing his thoughts towards something more productive. “Al, what was the address?” Albert picked up the letter again and scanned the last line under Milton’s name.

“204 Decatur Street, Saint Denis, Lemoyne. Oh, I know where this is! This is right by the Théâtre Râleur.”

“So Milton’s probably there. We can go pay him a visit,” Javier pantomimed fanning a gun from his hip, “and then you can look for Jack without having to worry about him.”

Charles shook his head, disagreeing. “How do we know that won’t just draw more attention to us? It sounds like Milton is just working for this new client, but I haven’t seen any new bounty posters or mentions of us in the papers. If we kill him now, that’s just asking for trouble with the law later.”

“Who is this new client anyway?,” John asked. Albert looked down again at the letter that he was still holding in his hands.

“It doesn’t say. But who would want all of you in jail, and why would they wait five years?”

“Cornwall?” Charles shook his head at Arthur.

“No, he died a year back. Maybe the Grays or the Braithwaites?” It was John’s turn to doubt the suggestion.

“Why would they wait so long? And why go to the Pinkertons?”

“Maybe Colm O’Driscoll?,” Javier tried. Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Colm’s also dead; Sadie cut his head off and dumped the body in Valentine outside the sheriff’s office.” Javier balked at that.

“What, by herself? How the hell did she manage _that?”_

“I got a hell of a story to tell you later...”

“Maybe it was Strauss,” Bill said darkly. “Maybe he found out you split the Blackwater money without him.” Javier’s mood also darkened and they both looked towards John, who was trapped between them.

“We couldn’t find him, just the same as we couldn’t find you guys. But he wouldn’t have to do all this, he just had to come back and ask and we would’ve given him his share!”

“So when can we get _our_ share?,” Javier queried.

“As soon as I get my son back and it’s safe for me to go home! What are you not getting?!”

“I have an idea,” Albert interjected, and suddenly found five sets of eyes on him. “About how to find out who this client is.”

“What’re you thinkin’, Al?,” Arthur asked the man to his left.

“I’m thinking I go up to their office in Saint Denis and ask.” Seeing he was being met with blank stares, he continued, “I’ll go in posing as a prospective new client wanting to work with Milton specifically. I’ll ask if he has any current jobs that might get in the way of whatever fake job I come up with, and I’ll try to discern how long he’s expecting it to take.”

Charles drew his brows together. “You’re just gonna walk in there?”

“Why not?,” Albert shrugged. “They don’t know who I am, and they don’t know that I’m associated with any of you. As far as I can tell, I’m the only one who _can_ go in there.” Arthur shook his head.

“I don’t like it.”

“I do,” John said, defying his brother. “That’s the closest thing to a plan right now.”

Repeating his hip fire gesture, Javier offered, “I mean there’s still _my_ plan.”

“Which I actually don’t hate...,” Bill reluctantly found himself agreeing.

“I think it’s a bad idea. And it doesn’t help us get any closer to finding Jack,” Charles contested.

“You got a better idea?,” he shot back.

Letting his nerves finally show, “No, but I thought that’s what we were here trying to figure out.”

Seeing John begin to skulk and realizing they were getting nowhere, Arthur tried to regain control of the situation. “Look, will you all just calm down and focus? It’s like we’re all talkin’ past each other.”

“Maybe there’s nothing else to talk about then.” All eyes fell onto Javier. “Don’t get me wrong, I missed you guys, but I didn’t even wanna come to this. No offense, John.”

“Well then why don’t you go on and run away again, coward?”, Bill sneered. One of the Mercer Boys stood up at the adjacent table, but Javier calmly motioned for him to sit back down.

“I didn’t. Run. _Away.”_

“Sure, keep tellin’ yourself that. And I ain’t afraid of these Mercer Boys you hired for protection.” Javier smirked.

“Hired? Who do you think they work for?" When Bill didn't answer immediately, Javier continued, "While you were hiding under a rock the past five years I’ve been doing something with my life. I made a new gang, bigger than Dutch’s!”

Arthur really wished his friend wouldn’t be bragging about this right in the middle of Del Lobo turf. John, trapped in the middle of this new spat simply asked, “Who are the Mercer Boys?,” but was ignored.

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true,” Arthur muttered to Bill at his right. That earned him an incredulous look, but the man soon snapped back to Javier.

“Do you have any idea how many people your boys have hurt? I see folk all the time who got shot up by your goons. Hell, _he_ was one of them!,” he shouted, pointing at Albert, who looked increasingly worried he was about to witness a second shootout with the gang.

“I know a lotta folk are getting shot because they think they can stand up to my boys and can’t,” Javier defended. “You got soft, Bill. The old Bill would’ve joined up with me.”

“I wouldn’t’ve! I’m not like that no more! I’m not gonna go out and rob folk who are just- folk who are just-“

Suddenly a coughing spasm seized Bill and he instinctively stood up and knocked over his chair. Arthur and John on either side of him also rose and tried to help, but were unsure of what to do. Nate seemingly materialized out of thin air with how quickly he came over.

“Ben! Ben, take it easy, I’m right here!”

“We’re done here,” Javier lamented as he rose from his seat and signaled for his boys to follow. “I wouldn’t get too close, he might try to cough on you to get you sick too.” Placing a quick hand on John’s shoulder, “John, if you change your mind, come find me at Fort Mercer.” He coolly waved to the rest of the table before walking out of the venue into the night.

It was a harrowing minute or two of listening to Bill’s lungs betray him and watching him collapse to the ground. His eyes grew noticeably bloodshot. Nate ran out to his horse to bring back some medicinal herbs that seemed to help once he waved them under Bill’s nose.

“There we go, take it easy, big guy. You still with me, Ben?” The other man needed another moment to clear his throat and he spit a little bit of blood onto the floor before standing up.

“Yeah I’m… I’m fine.”

“I told you not to shout like that.” Turning to the others, Nate continued, “Gentlemen, I’m going to take him outside for some fresh air, but I’m afraid he’s more or less done for the evening, I’m sorry.” Some pleasantries were exchanged before Nate carefully walked his patient outside, mumbling assurances as they went.

The four men who remained lingered quietly, unsure of what to make of what just happened. John frowned and said with a voice that threatened to break with emotion, “This was a waste of time.” He abruptly got up and knocked his chair over as he exited, ignoring Arthur’s cry to stay.

Charles sighed, finished off the rest of his beer and said, “I’ll go after him.” He took a moment to righten the chair as he passed it. Soon enough, only Arthur and Albert remained. The photographer resumed his anxious finger drumming from earlier.

“Well it was nice seeing everyone in one place.”

Arthur put his head down on the table with a gentle _thud._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was trying to come up with an address I was looking around New Orleans in Google Maps and goddamn I miss that city. 204 Decatur Street is a breakfast joint called the Ruby Slipper; absolutely treat yourself there if you ever find yourself in the city (they actually have a few locations, it's a local chain).
> 
> So the reunion was messy, but the best ones always are. Hopefully the seating positions made sense, but if you want some clarity, I was envisioning it as (going clockwise): Arthur, Albert, Charles, Javier, John, Bill, then back to Arthur.


	10. Homecomings and Goings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Albert go home, but don't stay for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters keep getting longer and longer but I don't want to trim them down or break them up into smaller chapters. I can't help it, the words keep coming and they don't stop coming (fed to the rules and I hit the ground running).
> 
> I’m gonna try something narratively this chapter that I’ve never tried before (it’ll make sense when you come across it). Let me know how it flows.
> 
> Also stream “Show Pony” on Spotify.
> 
> This chapter picks up immediately where the last one left off.
> 
> _UPDATE- This chapter was updated for minor edits on 11/26/2020_

John and Charles did not return.

Nate and Bill didn’t either, and after more than a few stray glances and silent warnings from the regulars, it was evident that they threatened to overstay their welcome. Once a half hour had passed and no one they recognized came back to the bar, Arthur decided it was time to leave, much to Albert’s audible relief. Upon exiting out onto the deck of the hostel where some Del Lobos were lazily smoking, Arthur carefully swept his eyes across the small settlement, or at least as far as the night would allow. No sign of Old Boy, Taima, Brown Jack or Nate’s horse. They were alone in Thieves’ Landing and after that thoroughly unproductive meeting, there was nothing holding them there any longer.

“What were you thinking we’d do for the rest of the night?,” Albert asked, taking the opportunity to stretch out his back after being seated for so long.

“Let’s head north, just past the border but not too far,” Arthur muttered back. There was no reason to suspect anyone from this settlement would want to follow them into the night, but it still felt safer to hedge his bets and deter any would-be eavesdroppers.

Unbeknownst to the two men, a thick and soupy fog had rolled in off the San Luis River while they were in the bar, like a damp bedsheet that covered the world and clung to your clothes. It had a cooling and obscuring effect that made everything feel, look, and sound more distant and wet than it was. Arthur could almost feel the condensation build inside his very lungs.

_Hope Nate knows what he’s doing, taking Bill out in this._

They may as well have been blindfolded trying to ride at night in these conditions, but that didn’t stop them from trying. Arthur was strangely thankful for it however, as they found themselves crossing a long wooden bridge that normally would’ve left them more exposed than he would have liked. Once on the other side, they only traveled a bit further before pulling off the road, _far_ off the road Arthur made sure, and beginning to set up a small fire in the dark with what little kindling they could gather. The spot they agreed on appeared to be some kind of hilly plain without tree cover. The fog helped by diffusing the moonlight around the entire area, and the light from the fire wouldn’t travel far, but he still didn’t like that he wouldn’t be able to make out any threats until they were on top of them. Albert elected to spend this time setting up the tent.

“Finally starting to get a bit brisk at night,” he observed.

“Yeah, guess summer’s officially over,” Arthur agreed. Were he a younger man he would’ve lamented the fact; cooler weather meant colder nights and less sleep, as he always struggled to keep himself warm in his bedroll. Everything hurt more in the cold and snow in particular made it harder to ditch the law. All of that still held true, but now they felt like worries from a former life ever since he had a consistent roof over his head and started sharing a bed with a human furnace.

Once he was content the fire would take to the kindling he’d gathered Arthur leaned back from his kneeling position to sit on the ground, and Albert took a place at his side, cross-legged. It wasn’t cold enough that a fire was necessary, and they’d already eaten so Arthur wasn’t even sure why he’d made it. Likely out of sheer force of habit or maybe a desire to keep his mind momentarily occupied, he deduced. They both sat in silence, staring into the small fire consumed with the same thoughts. Thoughts of the meeting, thoughts of Jack, thoughts of Milton. Thoughts of when things could go back to normal. _If_ they could go back to normal.

“What a goddamn mess…”

“Certainly not the best situation, no,” Albert murmured after a pause.

“You think your new friend Teddy can help us out?,” Arthur joked. Albert huffed.

“Please, I hardly have that kind of pull with longtime associates, let alone the _president_ who I met _once_ I’ll remind you.”

Arthur mindlessly grabbed a long blade of grass and began tearing it into small pieces. “Bet your colleagues don’t have to deal with children gettin’ kidnapped and Pinkertons huntin’ down their friends.”

Albert answered easily, as if it weren’t a rhetorical question at all. “I doubt it, but to be honest I’ve never asked them, and I’ve been surprised before.” Arthur chuckled.

 _Wiseass can find the humor in anything._ Despite his mood he let his heart swell with affection, only if for a moment.

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow? We’re not far from the house you know.” Arthur scratched his chin in thought before replying.

“Yeah, I know. Maybe we’ll swing by and get you some clothes that don’t have blood on ‘em.”

“That’d be much appreciated,” Albert grumbled, looking down and frowning. He’d decided to forgo a vest for the meeting, opting to only wear a simple collared button-down, but had still complained that he felt “naked”. Before they’d gone to the hostel Arthur had pointed out that he had seen Albert naked before, several times in fact, and that it didn’t look like how Albert had looked that night. That earned him a playful slap across the face.

“I don’t wanna stay for too long though.”

“Of course. I’ll just grab a change of clothes and some more money and we’ll be on our way. Maybe swing by Manzanita Post real quick; I miss Lilly.” Arthur smiled as he thought about their dog, but the first half of what Albert said stuck out in his mind.

“Where _do_ you keep all the money?”

“Someplace safe,” Albert responded noncommittally. He chucked a pebble into the fire, no doubt trying to seem nonchalant.

“Such as…?” Albert side-eyed Arthur and raised an eyebrow.

“Who’s asking?”

“The man you asked to spend the rest of your life with. What happened to not keepin’ things from each other anymore?”

“Oh don’t you pull that card on me,” he scoffed. But after seeing that Arthur was serious, “You really want to know?”

“Look, I know I’m not all that smart,” he quickly raised a finger to stop Albert before he could contest it, “I know I’m not all that _booksmart_ and good with numbers like you are, so I trust you with the money stuff. I just don’t know where it all is. Hell, you never even told me how much of the Blackwater money John gave you back then.”

Albert leaned forward and looked around, as if there could be anyone else out here with them, before answering. “Well if you must know… I have stacks of cash lining the rafters above the kitchen.”

“You put it up _there?”_

“Did _you_ ever think to look there?” Albert seemed quite pleased with himself and the reaction he got in return.

“No…” Arthur thought back to his younger years when he would sometimes rob homesteads to bring in money for the gang. He wondered how many times he simply didn’t think to look _up,_ how many stacks of cash or other valuables he might’ve walked under, hidden away by people as smart as Albert.

“Well if I’ve managed to keep it hidden from a professional criminal for five years, I think that makes it a safe place for keeping.” He leaned back onto his palms with a sort of quiet pride.

“Alright, I’ll give you that. So how much did John give you?”

“So if you’ll remember, after we all got back to Valentine-”

_Hooves._

Both men tensed and looked up and around, trying their best to peer into the fog at the source of the sudden threat, but were unable to make anything out. They rose, Arthur slinging his Lancaster into position and Albert trying his best to quickly kick out the fire. It sounded like two horses slowed to a stop just outside of visible range, but nothing happened. Arthur primed the lever and aimed into the darkness. Albert likewise had his Volcanic drawn and leveled in the same direction.

“Who’s out there?!,” Arthur shouted.

“It’s Charles,” the familiar voice returned calmly. Instantly the two men breathed a sigh of relief, un-tensing their bodies. A figure slowly came into view, and materialized as Charles on foot, leading Taima by the reins. He eyed the drawn weapons, now pointed at the ground but still present, and seemed amused. “Something wrong?”

“Fine now. Didn’t know who was gonna run up on us just there.” Arthur looked past Charles and saw John leading Old Boy closer as well, though he didn’t seem to be in a conversational mood.

“Well now I wish I hadn’t kicked the fire out,” Albert apologized. He squatted down and quickly blew on the embers trying to salvage them into something worthwhile again.

Charles hitched Taima to the ground near Ivy and Penny and walked back over. Arthur finally re-slung his weapon back over his shoulder and asked, “How’d you find us?”

Shrugging, “Sheer luck if I’m being honest. Heard some voices and decided to come over to see if it was you. I’m a better tracker than most, but even _I’m_ having trouble in these mists. Took me a while to find John.” They both looked over to John, skulking by Old Boy and unceremoniously removing his bed roll from the back of the saddle.

“Hey John, we’ll get this fire going back up in a bit, you can set up over here,” Arthur tried.

“I’m not in the mood to talk right now,” he responded. John spread out the bed roll a good distance away from the other three and laid down on top of it, facing away.

Charles, maybe trying not to anger John further, changed the subject. “You were real fast on the draw when we came up. Something got you on edge?”

“Didn’t have a chance to tell you tonight, but we had an incident out on the roads ‘bout two weeks back…”

Albert had gotten a meagre fire going again, but it would need more kindling if he wanted to sustain it. He opted to just leave it as it was and stood up to join the conversation. “We certainly did. Last time people rode up on our camp things turned out poorly.”

“Al got shot,” Arthur explained. Charles’ eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he kept going, “Some Mercer Boys saw us on the side of the road and tried robbin’ us. I killed their leader, and Al shot another one, but they shot him back and the other two ran off.”

“Not something I think either of us are keen on repeating, hence why we’re so far from the road.”

Charles seemed confused. “Far from the road? We only had to go a few dozen paces off the road to find you guys, this isn’t that far at all.”

“Man, I can’t see shit in this fog, I don’t know where we are!,” Arthur fussed.

Ignoring the outburst, “Where were you shot?”

Patting near the injury, “Right here, in the shoulder. It’s closed up and fine on a surface level, I just have difficulty raising it or lifting too much weight.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Who are these Mercer Boys anyway? I don’t travel down this far south that often.”

Arthur put his hands on his hips and briefly looked back over his shoulder into the fog, but saw nothing. “Some new gang out of Fort Mercer all the way past Armadillo. Apparently Javier is their leader.”

“Is that how you found him?,” Charles asked.

“Something like that…”

“Charles, please take a seat, I’ll fill you in. We didn’t really get a chance to speak back there.” Charles gave Arthur a look and a subtle head nod in a direction behind him. He knew what they were both doing and he was thankful for it, but that didn't mean he was looking forward to what was going to come next.

Leaving those two to settle down for a conversation behind him, Arthur fit his thumbs through his belt loops and tried to approach John as casually as possible. He wasn’t being quiet, he wasn’t trying to sneak up or startle the man, but he was struggling to think of what to say. Thankfully, John rolled over onto his back and spoke for him.

Sounding genuinely curious and less moody, “Al got _shot?_ Did I hear that right just now?”

Sighing, “Yeah, that was some nasty business. I thought… I was real scared that night,” was all he could manage.

“Damn, when did that happen?” Arthur squatted on the ground to get down closer to John’s level.

“The first night out of the house if you can believe it.”

“He really is the unluckiest guy I know.” That got an involuntary laugh out of Arthur, but he wanted to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“How you doin’, Marston? And don’t lie to me.” Whatever brief joviality there had been in the air between them vanished in an instant. John remained on his back, but stared straight up into the sky, scowling.

“How do you _think_ I’m doing? I haven’t seen my son or my wife in half a month. And I might be going to jail soon.”

“I told you I wasn’t gonna let that happen.”

“You can _say_ whatever you want, but if at the end of two months they still have Jack, I’m gonna turn myself in so they’ll let him go.”

The admission stunned Arthur. While he had long since gotten over his grudge, he still looked back on that period after Jack’s birth darkly. John, not willing or ready to be a father, had left the gang for a year and ran off to who knows where. Arthur, knowing all too well what the world was capable of doing to a woman and child left alone, was forced to step up and help Abigail raise a newborn until John finally came crawling back. He was accepted by the gang almost immediately, but Arthur had needed much more time to forgive the younger man.

And now he was ready to sacrifice his own freedom for the very son he’d once abandoned.

Finding his words again, “I’m not gonna let it come to that. We still got time.”

“Time doesn’t mean anything if I don’t know what to do with it,” he spat.

“We’ll figure something out-”

“So everyone keeps telling me.” John abruptly got up from the ground and began ambling aimlessly away. “I’m going for a walk.”

_Then I’m going with you._

At risk of getting separated from the other two, Arthur wordlessly followed his brother into the night. He only caught up when John stopped at some sort of precipice that presumably dropped off into the river. It wasn’t dangerously high, nothing like that stunt Albert pulled at Painted Sky, but it would’ve been more trouble than it was worth to get down to the water. They stood side-by-side silently in the fog that almost seemed to have gotten thicker; it felt more like being in a strange, impossibly large room than outdoors. Nothing would happen until John spoke. They both knew he knew he would, it was just a matter of waiting. Arthur was willing to wait until the sun came up if that’s what it took.

Thankfully John spared him a sleepless night of standing after several minutes. “It was my idea you know,” he began, softly, taking his time between each sentence. “To try and get Jack into school. Abigail wanted to wait another year, still afraid he’d be recognized with his real name, but I thought enough time had passed.” He tilted his head back towards the featureless sky and his voice grew tighter. “He’s getting so smart, and his reading’s getting pretty good already too.”

The ensuing pause seemed to be as much of an invitation as Arthur was going to get. “Well maybe when this is all over I’ll lend him some of those old mystery books Hosea taught us on. Al only lets me have one shelf on the bookcase, but I still got a few of 'em.” John looked to Arthur on his left with a strange expression he couldn’t read.

“Really? _Aldous Filson Mysteries?_ They’re still writing those?”

He forced a weak laugh, “I doubt it’s the same guy, but someone keeps putting them out, yeah.”

“I think he’d like those.” His face broke into a frown he was clearing failing to fight as he snapped his head forward again, away from Arthur. “I… I miss him…”

“Who, Hosea or Jack?”

“Jack, but… I _do_ wish Hosea were here, he’d know what to do.”

“I say that damn near every day myself.” 

John shot him that strange look again, and Arthur now recognized it as the face of a man at his absolute breaking point. He’d never seen John like before, typically the younger man would leave camp for a few nights whenever things got to be too much, but there was no other explanation for that expression. All the stress and frustration and fear that John had been carrying since this all began was about to come out and knock Arthur over with the force of a failing dam.

“Hey-”

“I miss _my son!,”_ John cried out. He broke completely at this point. Arthur quickly pulled him into an embrace and found John balling tight fists into the back of his shirt. Since leaving the house Arthur had tried not to think too often about Jack because frankly he found it too difficult. But in this moment he found himself imagining the boy chained up in a dark cellar somewhere, scared and confused and held by Pinkertons at gunpoint who were no doubt feeding him all kinds of lies about John. No child deserved that, no matter who their parents were.

“I miss him too,” he found himself gasping. “We’re gonna find him, I promise.”

He felt the leaner man under him wracking with quiet sobs, his whole body shaking. John’s breaths were sharp and sudden and quick, and Arthur was reminded of his own hysteria when he had discovered what had happened to Eliza and Isaac all those years ago. They both lingered in that space vulnerable to each other for two different but similar reasons. It was some time before John pulled away first.

“I just hope he’s not scared,” he sniffed. The expression of sheer worry that he wore was so foreign, he almost looked like a different person to Arthur.

“Nah, he’s a tough kid, always askin’ Al to take him to see wolves and bears, remember? He’ll be fine.” Arthur didn’t know if he was saying this more to convince John or himself, but it seemed to have the desired effect anyway. John stepped away, looking almost embarrassed that he allowed himself that moment of weakness, but Arthur wouldn’t tell anyone about this.

“Goddammit,” he complained as he dabbed at his eyes. “I just hope Bill or Javier don’t mess everything up by killing Milton.”

Arthur took a moment to dry his own eyes. “I doubt you gotta worry about that. Javier’s gonna go back and hide behind his fort and Milton won’t be able to touch him anyway. Bill’s not gonna do shit either, I doubt his doctor will even let him leave the house for a year now.” John sniffed again but seemed more pensive now as he stared at the ground.

“That _was_ strange. I mean not that he got sick like that, but that his doctor was right there; didn’t seem like the kinda place or the kinda meeting I would bring a _doctor_ to.”

“Well those two are kinda close,” Arthur explained. “Nate’s an alright guy. Kinda kooky.”

“Close enough that he’d follow Bill into Thieves’ Landing of all places apparently,” John mused. Arthur wasn’t sure it was his place to talk about Bill behind his back, but they were all on the same side and John had gotten comfortable with the concept of two men living together after watching Arthur and Albert do it for half a decade.

“Well I mean they’re _real_ close. Like ‘me and Al’ close.” John studied him.

“Wait, really? Bill’s really… _like that?_ I was always just teasing him because everyone else did.”

“Naw, there was some truth behind it. Hell, if it weren’t for him, I probably would’ve never ended up with Al. Remember how I told him about Al before I told you?” They both thought back to that night they fought on the beach, after the train robbery towards the end of the gang’s life.

Rubbing his jaw, “I forgot about that. Huh… Guess I shouldn’t’ve been so hard on him then.”

Arthur strained his ears. They were still alone, but the familiar sound of Albert’s laughter in the distance told him which way to head back through the mist. He was getting tired and wanted nothing more than to crawl into that tent and fall asleep next to the source of those laughs, but he didn’t want to leave John alone just yet.

“Look, I know I’m soundin’ like one of Dutch’s old broken records at this point, but _we’re gonna find Jack._ We’re gonna get outta this mess somehow. All of us.” John locked eyes with him but his defiance and attitude had waned in exchange of his own creeping exhaustion. He nodded weakly.

“I sure hope so. Do you think the others are gonna try anything though? I mean if Milton is really offering this same ‘deal’ to all of us…” The news of Charles’ letter and its implications was still new and Arthur hadn’t had enough time to dwell on it, but he was certain it would weigh on his mind in the coming days.

“I don’t know. Charles don’t seem the type and the other two are gonna go runnin’ back to New Austin. But you don’t gotta worry about me, I’ll always have your back.” A faint smirk found its way into John’s face but Arthur went a step further and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re my brother, and... I’m damned proud of the man you finally decided to grow up into... Took you long enough.”

Fully risking another emotional moment, John could only croak a dismissive, “Shut up.”

“Or what?,” he teased with a playful shove. “Don’t make me push you into this water, then Milton’ll _really_ never find you.”

“If anything happens to me, it’s Abigail that’s coming for your head,” he shot back.

“Nah, you’re right, lemme not tempt fate.” He glanced over his shoulder, signaling that he wanted to wrap up this talk. “I’m gonna head back, you wanna come?”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes. I’m not gonna go running off, I promise.”

“Sure.”

“And Arthur.” He paused. “You’re my brother too.”

They’d never said what that really meant, never spoken the true words aloud, but they understood each other.

“I know.” He turned and left John alone. “I know.”

* * *

Morning brought with it the sounds of chattering gulls, gentle waves crashing on a nearby shore and a thin sliver of sunlight that traveled millions of miles to snake through the thin tent flap directly into Arthur’s eyes. With a groan he pulled himself from Albert and rolled onto his back, knowing full well that he was now awake for the day. Despite this, he wanted to allow himself the fiction that maybe if he tilted his head in _just_ a certain way away from the sunbeam invading the tent, he could find sleep again.

After a minute, he gave up.

He exited the tent and gave a silent wave to Charles some feet away who nodded back. The other man had gotten a more impressive fire going than whatever he and Albert had thrown together last night and was kneeling over it, cooking something small that smelled gamey, a rabbit likely.

“Charles, when do you sleep?” Arthur kept his eyes squinted and didn’t even bother to don his hat to hide the mess his hair no doubt looked in that moment. Charles chuckled.

“I get my beauty rest, don’t worry. And I caught this yesterday, I’m not _that_ productive with my mornings.” 

“I wouldn’t put it past you though.”

There was a slight chill in the air and only a fraction of the fog that had plagued them last night remained, but the sun would burn it all off well before noon. Arthur peered behind the tent and was relieved to see the horses were still where they were left, but the daylight proved that they were not that far from the closest road at all. Nearby John was obviously awake, but had his back turned to the rising sun in a vain attempt to chase his own last few minutes of rest.

“Maybe I’ll brew some coffee when you’re finished with that.”

“Be my guest.”

Arthur moseyed over to Ivy, somehow accidentally kicking John’s foot along the way, and procured some coffee beans and a tin cup from her saddle bags. By the time he finished wishing Ivy a good morning and managing to trip over John a second time on the way back, Albert was standing outside the tent stretching his arms out as far as his injury would allow.

“Hey, handsome,” Arthur quipped. Albert rolled his eyes.

“I know you’re not talking to _me;_ I feel like I’m coated in a layer of dirt and grime.” It was half-true, but Arthur still swept up behind him and placed a kiss on the back of his neck despite this.

“Maybe we should go skinny dipping in a river later, get you nice and clean.”

“You know if you want me to leave, you just have to ask,” Charles joked good-naturedly. It looked like he was finished preparing his food, so Arthur stepped forward to begin brewing a cup of coffee over the now-available fire.

“Nah, I’ll spare you the sight of my bare ass; I’ve already scarred Al for life. What’re you up to today? You gonna stay with John?”

“I think that’s for the best. And we’re gonna try going east.” Letting his tone drop more seriously, “I have an idea about what might’ve happened to Jack.”

That grabbed Albert’s attention as well. “What were you thinking?”

“He was last seen in Blackwater, right? And if they wanted to keep him somewhere John couldn’t get to, they probably wanted to get him out of there as fast as possible. Faster than a horse.”

Pouring some water from his canteen over the coffee beans, “There’s no train station in Blackwater though,” Arthur pointed out.

Albert snapped his fingers. “But there’s a dock,” he realized. “You think they put him on a boat?”

“I do. It’d be impossible to track him and much faster than a train.” Albert nodded in agreement.

“There’s a regular ferry that goes to Saint Denis once a day. Maybe you can try looking at the manifests?”

Charles shook his head, “I thought about that, but I doubt they’d use his real name anyway. I think it’s more likely they put him on a private boat and went somewhere even further.”

“Further than Saint Denis?” Arthur didn’t like where this was going.

“Van Horn and Annesburg also have docks. And unless they really wanted to bring Jack across the country, I think those are the best options to start looking.”

“They’re also smaller towns with fewer children, he would’ve stood out,” Albert added.

“That’s what I’m hoping. It’ll be a few days of hard riding though, and we’re trying to be careful about not being seen together. We don’t want Milton to think we’re helping each other.”

Arthur held the cup over the flame, trying his best not to burn his hand. “Makes sense. When’re we gonna see you again?”

“Not sure.” At this point Charles looked up and noticed John was finally dragging his feet over to join the conversation. And no doubt had been listening the whole time.

“You and Al are going to Saint Denis, right? Why don’t we meet you in the city?” Arthur forgot how much more grating John’s voice was in the morning, which was saying something considering its normal state.

“I guess. You wanna do it in two weeks again?”

Johnny kicked at the ground as he mulled it over. “Might as well. That’ll be the halfway point.” One month since Jack was taken. One month until the ultimatum.

“Well with luck we’ll have a much improved scenario by then,” Albert cheerfully offered.

“I hope so.” John looked like he was about to let his mood drop again, but tried to salvage himself. “If we’re heading in the same direction, do you wanna ride with us?” Arthur shook his head.

“Nah, we gotta head back to the house first and pick up a few things. And Charles is probably right, it’s safer if no one saw us all together for a while.” John dipped his head, but understood.

Conversation was light after that, despite Albert’s best efforts. After a short and somber breakfast and more than a few uncertain goodbyes and well-wishes, the two groups took off in separate directions. 

* * *

_Click_

The front door was still locked, which was a good sign that Arthur was forced to use his key, but he still crossed the threshold as slowly and quietly as he could manage, sawn-off shotgun entering the living room before he did. He carefully assessed the sunlit interior and saw nothing necessarily out of the ordinary besides a fine layer of dust. It was strange coming home like this and not having Lilly run up excited to see him. He checked behind the front door. Again, nothing, but left it half-open.

Repeating this process with the bedroom and checking under the bed and inside the wardrobe for good measure likewise yielded no surprises. He wasn’t ready to lower his guard yet however. If someone was hiding in the basement, they would have heard his footsteps by now, and going down there would just be inviting an ambush. Still, he had to descend and inspect it, if only to set his own mind at ease.

Arthur came out of the bedroom back into the large living space. Everything still looked the same as they had left it. He placed a hand on the door that led to the stairs into the basement when something stirred to his left, by the half of the living room that made up the kitchen. He froze and strained his ears.

A can fell out of a cabinet.

In this heightened state of alertness Arthur panicked and instinctively snapped into position, firing his sawn-off from the hip at the new threat. It had been years since he’d fired a gun inside a small building like this, and he was instantly reminded of how loud it was. After the remnants of the former wooden chair finished clattering on the floor, he watched a mouse scurry back into the cabinet, behind some cans that had yet to fall over and he felt like a fool.

_Gettin’ spooked over a mouse in my own goddamn house…_

Not ten seconds later Albert had rushed to the front door, Volcanic drawn and looking concerned. “What is it? What happened?”

“It was just a mouse…,” Arthur mumbled. He holstered the sawn-off safely away and turned to face Albert, who likewise calmed down, but was looking at the recently destroyed piece of furniture.

“I guess that makes sense; Lilly hasn’t been here to scare them away.” He tucked away the Volcanic and walked over to pick up a spindle that moments earlier had made up the back of the chair. “Well this chair was on its way out anyway.”

Arthur tentatively pushed the other remaining chair at the table and found it wobbled easily on its uneven legs. “No, I think that was the good one.”

Sighing, “It’s _fine…”_ Albert stood up and tilted his head back at the rafters. Then he frowned. “Actually it’s not fine; that’s the chair I used to get up to the money.”

“Use the other chair.”

“No, I don’t trust that one, it wobbles too much.”

“Well then stand on the table.”

“I don’t wanna put my feet where we eat.”

“We got a mice problem anyway, nothing’s clean in here.”

“Just let me get on your shoulders.”

“What? No!”

“Why not? Are you not strong enough anymore, old man?” Arthur attempted to stare down the smug man before him, but relented rather quickly, opting to just get in position in front of Albert and not waste any more time bickering than they had to.

“I don’t know who you’re calling _old man,_ I’m barely half a year older than you,” he muttered.

“I know, don’t remind me…,” Albert groaned back. Arthur turned around, dropped to a squat and let Albert awkwardly swing his legs over his shoulders. With a grunt and an alarming amount of cracking joints that Albert wisely did not comment on he stood upright, giving Albert the leverage to begin feeling around the rafters.

“Besides, you got more grays than I do.”

“Oh, _shut up,_ you.” Albert began reaching up and feeling around the rafters, but Arthur couldn’t see exactly how he was doing it. He continued, more to himself, “I still can’t believe that was the first thing Mary pointed out to me...”

“Charles too.” _Smack_ “Ow!”

Albert hummed to himself, sounding concerned. “Take two steps to the right.”

“My right or your right?”

“My right.” A pause, then, “You are insufferable today.”

 _“I_ thought it was funny…”

Soon after, Albert found a stack of money that counted out to three hundred dollars and Arthur lowered him back down, both of them satisfied that that would be enough to hold them over for a while. They swapped out their spare clothes and Albert even took the time to store the negatives he took for safe-keeping and get some new film from the basement - only after Arthur had thoroughly vetted the downstairs for threats, of course. The homecoming was bittersweet however in that they only stayed for just under an hour, Arthur making routine trips to the front door to make sure no one had followed them.

Once the front door was locked again a short ride up the road brought them to Manzanita Post, a sort of outpost in the woods frequented by local hunters as a place to rest. Albert went inside the main building to check for mail, but Arthur had something more important on his mind.

“My girl!”

Lilly came bounding across the grounds and came dangerously close to bowling Arthur over as he crouched to greet her. She was followed by the two huskies that lived at the outpost but didn’t seem to have official owners, so much as they were taken care of by all the regular hunters, one of whom was also approaching.

“Mason! You’re back?” Arthur looked up to see his friend Lee, fitted up with his bow and arrows and other gear.

“Just for a bit. Had to swing by the house for some things, but we’re headed east for some family business.”

“Aw, that’s too bad, I was just about to head out. There’s a monster elk up by the Aurora Basin I’ve been tracking for the past few days. You sure you don’t wanna come?”

“Nah, I can’t stay long.” He stood up and let Lilly and the two huskies run over to Albert, who was now exiting the building with an armful of letters. “Hey, you haven’t seen anyone near the house at all, have you?”

Lee pulled a face and couldn’t seem to recall anything. “Not that I’ve seen. It’s been quiet over there. Why, you expectin’ someone?”

“Nah, just curious is all. Would you mind keepin’ an eye on it? We’re headed to Saint Denis for another two weeks I think.”

Lee shrugged, “Sure. You’re lucky it’s just down the road; it’s almost harder _not_ to pass it.”

“I appreciate it. I’ll make it up to you when we get back, promise.” He looked past Lee at Albert who was coming down the stairs towards them. Albert was something of a local villain at the outpost, which explained why Lee rolled his eyes and made a quick exit.

“Well take it easy out there. Tell your cousin I said hey, I guess…”

Albert likewise shot daggers out of his own eyes at Lee’s back as the other man walked away. “Hey, be nice,” Arthur said. “He’s watchin' the house for us. Said he hasn’t seen no one come by.”

“Well that’s good at least.” He adjusted his arms to carry the twenty or thirty envelopes in a more efficient manner.

“I still can’t believe you managed to get them to set up a post office out here.”

Albert’s typical humble nature was absent in his smile; the ‘Manzanita Post Post’ as he called it was a personal victory he had campaigned for a year earlier and was still proud of. “I’ll remind you that it was _your_ idea to start that petition.”

“I know, I just didn’t think you’d actually do it. Also didn’t think you’d find enough people livin’ out here in the sticks with us to sign it.” Lilly jumped up onto Albert and he almost dropped a few before catching them again. “You sure you don’t need help with those?”

“No I’ve got it. It’s mostly letters from various colleagues, no doubt still congratulating me for the Denver speech. One from my mother, and one from Mary; wasn’t expecting to hear back from her so soon.”

“Nothing else?,” Arthur pried.

“Nothing from Uncle Kilgore, no.” Then, quieter, “Nothing from Milton either, I double-checked.”

Arthur couldn’t decide if he’d wanted a letter from Milton or not.

* * *

It was harder for the men to leave Lilly behind a second time, but she and the two huskies had no qualms about it once one of the other regular hunters began preparing some food by a fire on the other side of the outpost. Heading north and exiting Tall Trees proper finally revealed some ominous clouds on the horizon, but it was hard to tell which way they were going. There were a few ways to cross the Upper Montana River, but they had a favored crossing that happened to be close to the north entrance of Beecher’s Hope.

An idea that had been dwelling in the back of Albert’s mind all morning grew more urgent as he recognized the point of no return was fast approaching. When the simple wooden post marking the entrance to the Marston’s property came into view, he cleared his throat.

“Let’s take a break.” Arthur on his left looked over.

“Now? Why so early? Let’s cross the river first.”

“No, I want to stop now.”

“Is your shoulder actin' up?” He drew his eyebrows together in concern and Albert likely could have used that as an excuse if he wanted to.

_Bless that man._

“No, it’s fine. There’s just something I want to do real quick.” He looked south, towards the ranch. John and Abigail’s house was just barely visible from this distance.

Arthur followed his eyes and understood immediately. “No.”

 _“Yes._ Arthur, think about Abigail; she has no idea what’s going on. I just want to check in on her and see how she’s doing. Let her know we have a plan and that we just saw John this morning. She’s my friend too, you know.”

“What if a Pinkerton is there? What if Milton’s there?”

“What if? They don’t know who I am and I’ll just play it off like I’m a visiting friend or wayward traveler looking for directions. _You_ should stay here though, or at least someplace hidden nearby.”

Arthur looked down at Ivy’s mane and scowled, but Albert knew there was no logical refutation to his points, only emotional ones. And he hoped to play those emotions to his advantage; he knew Arthur and Abigail were close friends and that he didn’t want her to be in the dark any more than Albert did. After some fussing and body language that made it evident he wasn’t happy with the idea, he finally mumbled, “Please be quick.”

“I will,” he promised. “Wait here.”

Arthur peeled off the road and took Ivy over to some trees closer to the river as Albert entered the property. It was strange, seeing as they usually approached the house from the south entrance, but what was stranger was the state of the place as he got closer. It had only been two weeks since John had stopped tending to his ranch, but signs of his absence were already present. Firewood was left scattered lazily around the cutting stump instead of stacked neatly. Chickens were roaming the property, somehow escaped from their penned area, and even the grass seemed a little deader, though that could likely be blamed on the changing of the season.

Albert brought Penny around to the front porch of the house and hitched her to the post normally reserved for Old Boy. Predictably, Uncle was sleeping on one of the rocking chairs.

_Not everything is out of place I suppose._

Albert walked up and gently kicked Uncle’s shoe. The older man startled awake, “Alright! I’ll get to it, I said I’ll-” Now realizing who was before him, he smacked his forehead. “Al! What’re you doing here?,” he hushed.

“I came to see Abigail; is she around?”

“Uh…” Uncle looked down the road that led to the south entrance, then back to Albert. “Yeah, she’s inside, but you gotta be quick.”

“Why’s that?” Uncle picked himself up out of the rocking chair.

“I don’t know if you know what’s been goin’ on ‘round here lately…”

“I know what happened to Jack and John.”

“Okay, but do you know about Burns?”

Frowning in confusion, “No, who is that?”

“Agent Burns. He’s a Pinkerton that’s been stayin’ with us. Here, come on in.” He took two large strides over to the front door and opened it, allowing Albert to follow after.

If Albert thought the outside of the house seemed unusually unkempt, the inside was even worse. The floors clearly hadn’t been swept in a while and an unusual and unpleasant scent lingered in the air. Uncle led him towards the kitchen in the back and they both caught Abigail, bent and leaning over the wash basin which was full of dirty dishes. Her hands and forearms were wet and soapy, but she looked like she was taking a break to collect herself, eyes forced shut and breathing controlled.

Uncle knocked gently on the doorframe. “Abigail. Look who I found.”

“John?!” She whipped her head around, and only allowed her face to drop for a moment when she realized who it actually was. “Oh. Albert.”

“Abigail,” he muttered. Her face seemed raw and worn with emotion and ten years older than it was. He approached and let her wrap her arms around him, wet hands notwithstanding. “Abigail, I am so sorry.”

“I’m just gonna head out front, I’ll give a holler if Burns comes back,” Uncle said as he slid away from the scene.

_At least he can read a room._

She pulled away from him and looked him over with a weak smile. “It’s good to see you.”

It wasn’t fair. That this woman’s life was upended almost overnight and there was no guarantee that there would ever be a return to normalcy. All because of the actions of the man she fell in love with and built a life around? Was that not the exact situation Albert could easily find himself in? And yet for whatever reason it had been the Marstons’ home and not the Masons’ that Milton had found.

What does one even say to a mother whose child has been ripped from her with no promise of a return?

He fell back on common social graces.

“And you as well. How are you?” It was more of a formality, a reflex than a genuine question and she obviously recognized it as such. Still, she looked away at nothing in particular and sighed.

“I’m just tired of cryin’ all the time. Maybe I should get a gun like you and go out and do something about it, you know?” He placed his hands over hers and lowered them from his shoulders.

“I would advise against running into any gunfights just yet. We have a plan.” Her eyes lit up at that.

“You do?”

“Yes. Arthur and I are going to Saint Denis; I’m going to pretend to be a prospective client and try to hire Milton so I can find out who is paying him to do this. John and Charles think they have a lead on Jack up by Annesburg; that’s where they’re going.”

“Annesburg? Wait, how do you know that about John and Charles?”

“We saw them this morning, not that far from here.” Her grip on Albert’s hands tightened almost imperceptibly.

“John’s nearby? Is he gonna come home first?”

“I’m not sure, he didn’t say. I think he’s afraid that there would be Pinkertons here, and it sounds like he might be right?” A flash of anger flared behind her eyes.

“Agent Burns. He’s been staying here, he’s supposed to arrest anyone John brings in, or arrest John at the end of the two months.”

Albert certainly didn’t want to linger around knowing that. “Where is he now?”

“He goes into Blackwater ‘round this time every day for lunch, then again later for supper. Said my cooking wasn’t good enough for him.”

Suddenly the cookbook tucked away in Penny’s saddlebag didn’t seem like a good investment.

“Well he sounds like a very rude man on top of everything else,” he offered good-naturedly.

“He ain’t like you, no. Doesn’t have the decency to sit through a bad meal just to be polite.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Albert lied. Abigail saw right through it.

“You don’t gotta be nice, I know my cooking’s crap.” Finally, a genuine smile, “Kinda worked out here though, didn’t it?” He matched it with his own. 

“I suppose so.”

“Come on, I don’t want him seeing you here.” She grabbed the closest thing resembling a dish towel to dry her hands and arms before walking back out the front door. Albert followed after.

“No sign of him, but he’ll be back soon. You should get goin’, Al,” Uncle announced.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer-” Abigail grabbed his hands and interrupted him.

“It’s fine, Albert. Tell Arthur I said hello.”

“I will. I just wanted you to know that we’re doing something out there. And that John hasn’t forgotten about you; you know he loves you and Jack tremendously.” She fought back a surge of emotion and opted to simply nod with wet eyes.

“I know. Now get outta here, you’ve already made my day better.”

One final hug and a handshake with Uncle later and Albert was spurring Penny towards the north entrance just a touch faster than he arrived.

* * *

A downpour was imminent, and lightning with it if the thunder was any indication. They had barely made it a mile or two past the river crossing when the wind started picking up something fierce. This was no summer storm either, the temperature dropped fast once the first heavy drops began pelting the men.

“Do you think we should try riding through it?” Albert was forced to place a hand over his hat when a sudden gust of wind surprised him.

_Last thing we need is to catch a cold right now._

“No, it’s not worth it. Let’s find a place to wait it out.”

“What’s around here? Strawberry’s a bit far, isn’t it?” Arthur tried digging back into his memory of the area for any acceptable shelter, an abandoned shack or cave or something.

Seeing all of the wooden crosses on top of the hill before them gave him an idea he didn’t like at all.

“Let’s pull off up ahead, you know the place.” He didn’t look back to see Albert’s reaction, but he trusted the other man was putting things together in his mind once the broken wooden perimeter came into view.

Unfortunately there wasn’t anything resembling a stable or trees for the horses to hide under, so they would just have to endure the weather for however long it would take. Arthur vowed to buy them some extra sugar cubes next chance he got. The best they could do was hitch the girls and hope they didn’t blow away.

He entered the main building - he still wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a school or a church - from the side entrance in the rear. It still creaked and groaned with its empty threats to finally fall over, but Arthur doubted this would be the storm to finally do it in. He threw an arm over Albert’s shoulders when he came in, and they huddled together for warmth in that corner where the roof was still mostly intact.

Right in front of Arthur was the bench he had kicked in half a long time ago; the natural result of a fit of rage directed towards himself after a particularly painful argument in Blackwater with the man he now held in his arms. Were he in a better mood he would have laughed at the irony. Looking to the far right corner he could see the rafters where Dutch had hidden the chest with all of the Blackwater money that so many of his friends and strangers had fought and died and killed over.

And in the middle of the room was the hole in the floorboards Arthur had tripped over while backpedaling away from Micah. Where Micah had stood over him victoriously, ready to end his life. Where John had come to the rescue and fanned six bullets into Micah’s chest.

Where Micah had fallen and died.

Where there were currently no signs his body had ever been there at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate whenever the fog rolls in around Hennigan’s Stead and the game is like, “it’s actually time to stop looking at anything more than 5 feet away.” @ R*, nerf fog pls
> 
> Also if you thought I was finished with my Let 👏 Men 👏 Cry campaign, you were sorely mistaken. Also also seriously debated dedicating a paragraph or two describing Arthur using Deadeye on the mouse in the kitchen, but that would have just been too ridiculous.
> 
> So this was kind of a housekeeping chapter where there were lots of small little things I wanted to get out of the way and plant some plot seeds for later, but not a lot actually happened. By the nature of the main conflict of this story, John and Abigail wouldn’t be around for a lot of the early chapters, so I wanted to make the most of the brief moments they got. There’s also going to be more mid-chapter and even full-chapter perspective changes moving forward (that's the thing I was talking about in the beginning notes) where we’ll jump to Albert’s point of view when he splits up from Arthur; I wanted to set the precedent for that here so hopefully it wouldn’t be as jarring later on.
> 
> I hope this chapter wasn’t too tedious a read, and the next one will be incredibly plot-relevant, but at least I gave you a little cliffhanger here, right? 
> 
> *casually adds the “Supernatural Elements” tag 10 chapters into the work*


	11. The Lion's Den

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert attempts to get some information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got an Australian Shepherd Dog in RDO after hitting rank 75 in the Outlaw Pass. Her name is Sydney and I love her very much.
> 
> The first journal entry here is dated the day after we left off, and the next paragraph after that is four days after we left off. Put simply, 9/9/04 (the day they were in Fort Riggs) was a Friday and 9/13/04 (where we’re about to pick up) was a Tuesday.
> 
> _UPDATE- This chapter was updated for minor edits on 11/26/2020_

_9/10/04_

_The meeting was a mess. I forgot there was bad blood between Charles and Bill. Javier didn’t trust Albert being there, Bill and Javier started yelling at each other, then they both ganged up on Marston. I couldn’t get a word in, then Bill damn near died in front of us. Everyone ran off after that._

_Albert thinks he’s got a plan, wants to meet the Pinkertons face-to-face to get more information. I don’t like it, but I can’t think of anything else so we’re going back to Saint Denis. I can barely contain my excitement._

_Also dropped in on an old “friend,” but he wasn’t home. Not sure what to make of that._

_[The following two pages depict a sketch of the interior of a dilapidated building. There are some broken benches on the sides, but nothing in the middle aisle. There is no caption except for a lone question mark in some negative space.]_

* * *

Standing with his arms crossed, back to a wall, eyes hidden under the brim of his hat and guns on display, one could be forgiven for thinking Arthur was intentionally trying to look as uninviting as possible in that city square in front of the tailor’s shop. Albert, however, recognized it all as the telltale signs that something troubling was occupying his mind, which is probably why his question went ignored.

“Arthur!,” Albert snapped. That got his attention.

Blinking the mental distraction away, “Sorry, what?”

“I said how do I look?” Albert made a show of spinning around as if he were a mannequin on display. He was sporting a brand new deep purple vest over a clean white dress shirt and matching violet tie. More noteworthy however was the satin sling that his left arm was cradled in, seemingly made from the same material as the vest. In lieu of his normal straw boater hat, he’d opted for a small black bowler.

Once he was actually paying attention, Arthur seemed impressed. “You look good. Like a respectable member of society,” he said.

“Good to know I’m achieving the bare minimum,” Albert responded dryly. He was being facetious, but Arthur didn’t seem to pick up on it, meaning something was _really_ eating him up.

“I didn’t mean it like that. You look real fancy, really.” He uncrossed his arms to put his hands on his hips after gesturing Albert to spin around one more time. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in this color.”

“Purple invokes royalty; it is a color of immense wealth,” he stated matter-of-factly. Arthur drew his brows together.

“Is that true?”

“I have no idea. But it sounded true, didn’t it? If I speak confidently like that, maybe they’ll believe anything I say in there.” He then mumbled more to himself, “This was also the best-looking sling, and that sort of dictated the rest of the look... Will you hold onto these?” He passed over a bag containing the clothes he’d walked into the shop with, as well as his regular hat.

“Sure. So run this plan by me one more time?”

Albert took a moment to glance around their surroundings, trying not to be too obvious about it. They were far from the office and the city square they stood in was busy with foot traffic so they wouldn’t stand out, but he was still wary of any eavesdroppers. He began in a hushed tone, “Well first off, I can’t really be seen with you, so you’ll need to leave soon. I’m going to head to the Pinkerton office on Decatur Street and inquire about hiring Milton specifically for a new job. I’ll stress that this is an important job and that I’ll want his full attention on it, so hopefully that will give me a hint as two who is bankrolling his current job.”

“And what about me? What am I doing?” Albert placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

 _“You_ have the most important job of all. You need to keep an eye on my clothes, and save me a seat at Doyle’s Tavern.” That earned him a bored look.

“Really? _Doyle’s?,”_ the outlaw deadpanned.

“They have the best gin and tonics in the city. Trust me, I’ve tried them all…” Albert briefly thought back on those first two weeks in Saint Denis, before he had met Arthur. They were… _debaucherous_ to say the least.

“I still don’t like this.” The somber statement pulled Albert back into the present. He sighed, gravely, and leveled a serious look at Arthur.

“I know you don’t. But I want you to know… should the worst come to pass… I want you to have Penny.”

Arthur’s unimpressed glare back signaled that he truly was not in a joking mood.

“That’s not funny.”

“My god, you are _really_ worked up over this, aren’t you? Arthur, it’s just a _talk._ I may not even get in the front door; for all I know I may get kicked to the curb for solicitation because I didn’t make an appointment.” His partner wrinkled his nose and tilted his head in concession seeing the truth in the statement; this plan could very well fail before it got started, and then they’d be back to square one. Which was probably why Arthur looked him over from head to toe again.

“Then why’d you spend money on this new get-up?” Albert placed a hand on his chest and pretended to be shocked at the premise of the question.

“Because I deserve it! I’ve had a very stressful month, I’ll remind you.” He was trying his hardest to inject some levity into the conversation, but it fell flat yet again.

“I know… Some vacation this turned out to be...” His eyes drifted subtly to Albert’s left shoulder. Not subtle enough to go unnoticed however.

Softly, “I’m not holding it against you. I know I snapped at you that night in the hotel room but… I was just emotional. You know I don’t think you’re responsible for this.” ‘This’ being the shoulder he gestured to. Arthur dipped his face under his hat in that way he did whenever he didn’t want to speak anymore.

“I know,” he murmured, sounding anything but convincing. There wasn’t much more to say on the matter however.

“I should get going. And you should too, you’re going to ruin my cover.”

“Yeah, yeah. Be careful, Al.” They shook hands, a hollow but safe caricature of how they truly felt, what they truly wanted to do.

“I always am,” he responded with just a touch of sarcasm. They turned and took off in separate directions, but Arthur spoke out almost immediately.

“Make sure you’re not followed. And don’t head straight there, either.”

Under his breath for no one else to hear, “Yes, _mother.”_

* * *

The ride from Tall Trees to Saint Denis had taken the duo four days, and they’d only just gotten into the city this morning. Albert was thankful to walk and properly stretch his legs out after all the riding. Penny was a reliable and steady horse, but she was still a horse, and the journey had irritated Albert’s shoulder tremendously; more than he tried to let on, but he believed Arthur still suspected something. They’d simply spent too much time together, spent hundreds of hours of monotony and intimacy and domesticity to not know each other inside and out at this point. There was no way they could keep secrets from each other.

Or so Albert had thought until recently.

 _At least he still doesn’t know about…_ focus, _Albert, one thing at a time._

It was two summers ago since Albert was last in Saint Denis, and even then it was for less than a day; his train from New York had come in late and he’d foolishly booked the earliest ferry out to Blackwater because it was the cheapest option, only affording himself about four hours of sleep. It had been another year before that since he’d last spent a noteworthy amount of time here, when Monsieur Laurent sought to capitalize on Albert’s budding fame by allowing him another gallery showing with only Albert’s work on display. It was for these reasons that Albert surprised himself with how much knowledge of the streets he had retained. Getting to the address provided on Charles’ letter from the tailor’s shop was simple enough, but heeding Arthur’s advice meant taking a confusing and random route through the city and he was just about to pass-

The Saint Denis branch of the National Bank of Lemoyne.

Albert hadn’t been in the city the day of the robbery, but he had heard and read about it and was thankful that he wasn’t around. A few days after that failed job the Van der Linde gang had more or less disbanded and Arthur ended up staying with Albert in his hotel north of the city. They kept up this de facto cohabitation for several months before finally deciding to buy a piece of property together, but during those months in the city they had an unspoken agreement to never travel down the main boulevard of the city, or really anywhere near the bank. The first few times that they went to great lengths to go around that spot Albert was confused, but he eventually figured out the reason for the aversion.

Walking past the corner, there were no signs of that day at all. Unlike downtown Blackwater, where one could still see bullet marks scoring the buildings’ facades if one knew where to look, the bank looked flawless. Not even a memorial or a plaque reading “On this location…” But the knowledge that Hosea and several lawmen and Pinkertons died on this very spot while people walked by either oblivious or uncaring to the fact was… eerie to say the least.

Albert pressed on to the address shortly thereafter. He had enough on his mind as it was.

* * *

The heavy wooden door required more effort than expected to open, and Albert had to all but throw his good shoulder into it to manage the task. He was rewarded with a well-kept waiting room of sorts. Hunter green walls with dark oak chair railing and matching benches surrounded him. Some wall-mounted light bulbs helped illuminate the room to make up for the thick and heavily-tinted windows that even the strong midday sun was struggling to pass through. In front of him, a very sharp-looking young man with piercing eyes and hair slicked back with pomade sat behind a solid and sturdy desk. The man snapped to attention as soon as Albert entered, but did not rise from his seat. There was a pump-action shotgun resting against the wall behind him, clearly intended to be visible; a warning of sorts.

_Seems a touch excessive._

The man behind the desk offered a tight smile as Albert approached. “Good afternoon, can I help you?”

“I certainly hope so. I’m interested in hiring your agency for help with a personal matter.”

“Is this matter of a ‘security’ or ‘investigative’ nature?,” the younger man inquired. Albert wondered if maybe he was an agent himself instead of a mere secretary.

“Investigative. I have something of a mystery on my hands I’m afraid.” The man nodded, undeterred.

“Nothing we haven’t heard before. I only ask because it helps me narrow down which of our agents would be better suited to speak with you.” The man pulled out a ledger of some sort and began thumbing through it, but he paused when Albert spoke up.

“There’s actually a specific agent I was hoping to work with” Feigning confusion, “Agent Milton, I believe his name was?”

“Andrew Milton?”

“That sounds familiar, yes.”

“Of course. Sit tight and I’ll see if he’s available.” The man set the ledger aside and reached for a rotary telephone sitting on his desk. He had already dialed two numbers in when a strange sound escaped the back of Albert’s throat.

“Who are you calling?” The man stopped and looked up without raising his head.

“Agent Milton.”

“...He’s here now?”

“Yes. I know he has a train to catch later this evening, but he is in the office for a while today. Do you… want to meet him?”

Albert blinked hard and was silent for just a beat longer than might appear normal, but he ultimately replied, “Of course. I’d love to.” The man likewise let his actions linger for an awkward moment before finishing dialing the number and leaning back in his chair.

Speaking into the phone, “Drew. It’s Pete downstairs. Look, I got a guy here who wants to speak with you, a new client.” He studied Albert briefly then said, “No, I don’t recognize him.” Another break, then, “Sounds good.” He hung up and leaned forward in his chair again, “He’ll be right down.”

“Splendid,” Albert lied.

_What am I doing?!_

Since coming up with this plan during the meeting in Thieves’ Landing, Albert had a pretty set idea on how this would go; he had planned for a few different scenarios, sure, but meeting Milton directly never crossed his mind as a possibility. It seemed more probable that the Pinkerton would be out looking for the names on the list, but even if he was in the building, Albert didn’t think it would be so easy to land an audience. He was expecting to get all the information he was seeking from a secretary or some kind of office manager, not Milton _himself._

Albert turned his back to the younger man - 'Pete', apparently - in a display that he hoped came off as benign, or maybe even impatient. In truth, he was trying to calm his nerves. It was just a talk after all, and he reminded himself that he was doing this Jack and everyone else.

_What if Jack is in this building right now?_

The thought ceased his idle pacing and rooted him to the spot. If he saw the opportunity for a grand rescue, should he take it? All he had was his Volcanic pistol and an injured shoulder. Hardly good odds against an entire office of Pinkertons. If he was quick maybe he could grab the shotgun behind the counter but- no, that was insane. But if he somehow found Jack and did nothing, how could he ever live with himself, or face John or Abigail again? Conversely, if Albert tried and failed a rescue attempt, Arthur would get worried and probably come here himself, and there was certainly no way that _that_ would end well.

Sometimes it took external stimuli to pull Albert out of his catastrophizations. The footsteps stomping down the flight of stairs behind Pete suited this role perfectly.

Albert turned and took in the man who was walking towards him with momentum as he bounded off the last stair. Slightly shorter and slightly older, he was bald, clean-shaven and sporting an outfit not entirely unlike Albert’s, save for wearing red instead of purple and lacking an arm sling.

_This is the man who killed Hosea._

“Sorry to keep you waiting. Agent Andrew Milton.” A joke, likely; it had hardly been thirty seconds since Pete hung up the phone. He offered a hand once he was within range and Albert shook it.

Immediately forgetting the alias he had spent days crafting, “Albert Mason.” He internally damned his carelessness and hoped his wince wasn’t so obvious. Milton seemed to notice something was off, but his eyes drifted down.

“I hope that wasn’t the work of one of my boys,” he quipped, jerking his head at Albert’s shoulder.

“Oh, no, nothing of the sort. It was my horse; damned thing’s afraid of her own shadow. Something spooked her the other day and I took a nasty fall.” Milton hummed.

“I’m sorry to hear that. So, what can I do for you?” He pulled his hands behind him, chest out, chin held high. All business now.

“I’m seeking help finding a specific individual. Someone that to my understanding you had at least a passing knowledge of, and if not him, of his associates.”

Milton subtly tilted his head.

“Someone _I_ knew personally?”

“Someone who went missing five years ago,” was all he offered, hoping the implication was enough. Years of maneuvering parties and balls and galas among the upper class had taught Albert how to read people who did not want to be read. The slightest inclination of Milton’s eyebrows confirmed that they had each others’ full attention.

“Perhaps it would be better to discuss the matter privately in my office upstairs.”

Yielding with an upturned palm, “Whatever you think is best.”

Milton placed a hand on the desk to his right and said, “I only ask that you leave your firearm here with Mister Wilkes.” Of course Milton noticed the gun in the few seconds that they’d been in each others’ presence, he was likely trained for this sort of thing. Not wanting to arouse suspicion, Albert complied.

“Seems only fair.” He unbuckled the entire gun belt and placed it on top of the desk. Pete let out a low whistle as he looked at the holstered weapon.

“Is that a Volcanic? ...May I?” Looking to Albert for permission.

“Be my guest.” Pete removed it and held it on display in his hands. This particular gun had been Arthur’s a long time ago, and had a bit of a reputation to hear the other surviving gang members tell it. Apparently Arthur, not having anything better to spend it on, had put a considerable amount of money into fine-tuning and customizing it. It still had a distinct blued steel barrel with detailed floral engravings made of contrasting silver. Albert had done his best to keep it in good condition after “rescuing” it from the woods, though he didn’t like to dwell on how many lives it may have taken.

Pete then leveled it at the far wall and aimed down the sights. He seemed very impressed. So much so that he dropped his professional demeanor in favor of a downright boyish fascination.

“Damn, never held one before, it’s got more heft than I expected. Bet it kicks like a mule, too.” He spun back in his chair and put it back in the holster. “Our boys don’t carry anything like that,” he directed at Milton with an involuntary grin.

“We get by just fine with standard issuance,” he responded in a tone that told the younger man to drop the matter. Then, to Albert, “Shall we?”

“Lead the way.”

The stairs themselves seemed to be in decent enough condition, which meant Milton was purposefully stomping his feet to make his footsteps louder. Was this some kind of strange intimidation tactic? Seemed like a good way to scare off a potential client. Maybe it was some kind of signal to others in the building?

At the top landing, Milton directed Albert to the right, down a short hallway lined with doors bearing other agents’ names and into Milton’s private office. Once inside, Albert closed the door and took a seat in front of a large desk.

“I’ll admit you’ve piqued my curiosity, Mister Mason. I had a very singular focus five years ago.” Milton walked around to the far side of the desk which had another heavily tinted window behind it. He sat himself in a very expensive-looking chair.

“So I take it you are familiar with the Van der Linde gang?”

“I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I weren’t.” Zero levity in the delivery, but not necessarily biting in tone either.

“I’m inclined to agree.” Milton didn’t seem to be in the mood for banter and opted to stare Albert down, an implicit invitation to keep going and get to the point. “Seeing as you’re familiar, I’m assuming you also remember the Strawberry Massacre that occurred that same year?”

“An unfortunate affair. Twelve men and a woman died if I recall? Totally avoidable if the sheriff had just hanged Micah Bell, I don’t know why he waited. Suppose we’ll never know now,” he added morbidly.

“An unfortunate affair indeed.” Albert pretended to be crestfallen. “I had a friend who was killed during that rampage, and I have been-“

“What was his name?,” Milton interrupted. Albert allowed himself to be stunned for a moment as he mentally back-pedaled.

In retrospect, he should’ve been prepared for such an obvious question. He reached into his mind and pulled out a random name. “Jason,” he stammered.

“Was he a lawman?”

“No, he simply lived in the town.”

“My condolences. How did you know him?” Whether Milton was trying to appear sympathetic or sniff out if Albert was being untruthful, he couldn’t say, but it was growing increasingly obvious that this was going to be much harder than Albert originally thought.

He said the first thing he could think of, “He was a client of mine, but we kept in touch and became friends over time.”

“And what is it you do for a living?”

_Go with what you know._

“I am a portrait photographer.” At least at one point he had been. A corner of Milton’s mouth quirked up slightly.

“Do you operate that studio at the edge of town? I’ve never been inside.” Not wanting to be caught in a lie, Albert had to improvise.

“No, I don’t have a studio per se, I mostly travel to my clients rather than have them come to me.” The Pinkerton looked like he wanted to press the matter, but held back.

“I see. Forgive me, I completely derailed your train of thought; please continue.”

“No problem at all… What _was_ I saying?” The room was starting to feel quite warm.

“You were speaking of the Strawberry Massacre.”

“Yes, thank you. As I was saying, I always wondered about who was responsible for that horrific incident and if they would ever face justice. The papers only mentioned Micah Bell by name, but I understand that there was a second individual who broke him out of the jail cell?”

“That’s correct. I never made it out there to investigate and question witnesses for myself, I found myself… _occupied_ that following week, but I have a suspicion of who his accomplice was.”

_He’s talking about the Battle of Horseshoe Overlook._

“A suspicion?”

“Yes. The most likely person was Arthur Morgan, another member of the gang. I heard rumors of a man matching his description in town the day before the massacre, but I was never able to verify it for myself.”

In truth, Arthur _was_ there the day before, but only because he was escorting Albert out into the woods to find a bear to photograph. They found one, _three_ actually, and Arthur had nearly died trying to protect Albert. By the time they managed to limp back into Strawberry the attack was already over. Albert knew it was actually John who had sprung Micah out of that jail cell, but played along with Milton’s fiction.

“Well if that was the case, I suppose justice was at least partially served; word is Mister Morgan was captured and killed by the Murfree Brood.” Milton leaned forward and folded his hands together on the desk.

“I heard that very rumor. I don’t put much stock in it however.”

Albert let some genuine concern show and hoped it made for a convincing act. “You don’t?”

“Arthur Morgan was an extremely dangerous criminal, but he was also a capable survivalist. I find it hard to believe that he was bested by a bunch of backwood hillbillies.”

“You... don’t?,” Albert found himself repeating.

“No, I believe it’s more likely he’s been living out in the wilderness all this time, hiding from the law.”

“Five years seems a long time,” he doubted.

“When the alternative is facing justice for what you’ve done, I think you’d be surprised just how far a bad man is willing to go.” Albert truly had nothing to say to that, so Milton apologized. “I’m sorry, I’m getting things off track again. Tell me, what specifically are you looking for me and my agency to do?” Albert blinked awkwardly before he could remember the plan he was supposed to be sticking to.

“Simply put, I would like to know what happened to Micah Bell. Where he is at this very moment, and what needs to happen to put him behind bars.” _Basically, how do I send you on a wild goose chase?_

“That is certainly within my skill set to determine. I just have a question for you if you don’t mind.”

Albert did mind.

“Let’s hear it,” he offered with a rehearsed fake smile.

“Why now? Why wait five years?” Finally, something Albert felt prepared for. He adjusted his position in his seat, pretending that it was a difficult subject to discuss.

“My father… he passed away recently and left me as the sole inheritor of his sizable fortune. It’s only now that I feel comfortable expending money on such an endeavor, and it’s not exactly a task I think I should tackle on my own.” To his surprise, he unintentionally got a chuckle out of Milton.

“I would also recommend not going after Mister Bell alone, no.” He took a moment to clear his throat and compose himself, “And my condolences for your loss. Though I suppose that explains why a... _portrait photographer_ has one of the most beautiful and expensive guns I’ve ever seen.”

_Did he recognize Arthur’s gun?_

Albert tried to change the subject. “True, it’s not an especially lucrative trade, mine, but it _is_ a passion I don’t hope to stop anytime soon.”

“Could you though?,” Milton asked. “Stop working, that is?” A roundabout way to ask how deep Albert’s pockets were. That was good, a small bit of leverage he could use.

“I suppose so, though I have no plans to do so.” He could almost see the dollar signs behind Milton’s eyes across the desk.

“And really, why would you? It’s important to keep oneself busy.”

“I agree wholeheartedly.”

“If nothing else I imagine it makes for a nice excuse to get out of the house and away from the wife.”

“The wife?,” Albert asked. He was genuinely caught off guard until he looked down at his wedding band that Milton had apparently scoped out at some point. Albert quickly snatched both his hands into his lap and out of view. “I’m actually widowed.”

Milton let his jaw hang open for a beat before snapping it shut, mortified. “Forgive me, I assumed…”

“Going on six years now,” Albert replied wistfully. He had constructed such an elaborate fiction of this imaginary _Hannah_ in his head that she almost felt like a real person at this point. He raised his eyes to meet Milton’s. “It’s not your fault.” The other man nodded solemnly and cleared his throat.

“Very well. To the matter at hand, I think my people can help you with what you’re looking for. Mister Wilkes downstairs can start pulling together the paperwork if you’re willing to take the next step. I charge two hundred dollars a week, but that becomes negotiable if I’m still empty-handed or you’re not satisfied with our progress at the end of the first three months.” It took some effort to not balk at the quote Milton casually threw out like it was just another newspaper subscription, but Albert cleared his throat and attempted to get a word in.

“Agent Milton, if you don’t mind, I have another question for _you.”_

“I may have an answer,” he quipped.

 _Oh,_ now _he’s feeling cheeky now that he thinks I have money._

“In the event that I contract your agency for this work, do I have a guarantee that this will be your ‘singular focus?’ There are no other active or upcoming jobs on your desk, so to speak?”

Milton didn’t seem to care for that question at all.

He drummed his fingers across his desk uncomfortably. “That… is not a guarantee I can offer at this time, no. I have another client, more of a group really, that has contracted me for another matter, but I assure you that it will not hinder my ability to help you with yours.”

Carefully, Albert asked, “Why is that? Are they related, perhaps?” Milton surprised him with a sudden, real laugh.

“No, not remotely. It’s more… I really shouldn’t be laughing, it’s honestly a fairly grisly matter. I’m tasked with finding a rather disturbed individual, but I believe these are random acts of violence, nothing at all like what the Van der Linde gang was capable of even at their worst.”

Albert was supremely confused at the admission; this didn’t sound like it had anything to do with Jack or a list with five names at all, but getting information was the whole reason he was even sitting in this chair on the second floor of a Pinkerton office. He tried to pry a little more out of Milton. “Well now I’m more curious about what _you’re_ talking about.”

“I assure you, you don’t really want to hear it; it’s uncomfortable for even _me,_ and I’ve been in this line of work for some twenty-odd years now.”

Chin raised, Albert challenged, “Try me. This is America after all; loving killers is part of our makeup.” Milton held his gaze for a moment before slowly nodding.

“We certainly spend a lot of time talking about them, don’t we? ...Alright. There have been a string of unexplained murders across three states over the past few months. A group of families related to the victims have funneled some funds together to hire our agency to find whoever is responsible.”

“How are these murders ‘unexplained?’ Was the method unknown?”

“No, the decapitations and flayed-open torsos give a pretty good idea of the method.”

 _This has_ nothing _to do with Jack._

“Ah,” was all he could manage in his confused state.

“It’s the motives that are unknown. Were it not for the state the bodies were found in, there’d be no reason to suspect they were related at all. As far as I’ve been able to determine, the victims had no prior contact or knowledge of each other, and in most cases still had their possessions on them.”

“Doesn’t seem to be the work of a former bank robber,” Albert observed.

“Not at all. And unfortunately, or maybe _fortunately,_ there haven’t been any new murders committed in this style, so whoever’s responsible has gone quiet. That makes it hard to find new leads.”

“I see your predicament.” Milton leaned forward again and crossed his hands together for effect.

“What I’m trying to say is that taking on your request to find Micah Bell would be a welcome change of pace from what I’ve been doing for the past few weeks. Almost like reconnecting with an old friend in a strange sort of way.”

_Strange indeed._

“Well, that’s why I sought _you_ out after all. It seemed there was no one else who had that gang on the run towards the end there.” Milton gave him a strange look then while pondering how to respond. The narrowed eyes, the subtle smile. He almost seemed… _proud?_

Albert was about to start wrapping things up when Milton interrupted him. “I found his grave, you know.” Albert’s blood froze. He knew instantly what he was referring to, but played along.

“Whose grave?”

“Dutch Van der Linde’s," he drawled, taking care to stretch out every syllable of the name. "They buried him on the banks of the Kamassa River, outside of Van Horn. One of the most notorious criminals in this great nation’s history, now rotting at the bottom of a hole of mud. Fitting, if you ask me.” This was definitely pride.

“How are you certain? It might have been a decoy, a fake gravesite.”

“I’m certain because I had him dug up.”

Albert paled. His mind blanked completely. Milton stared at him deathly seriously for a few seconds before easing his shoulders and chuckling.

“No, I’m joking. I know because we caught a former member of the gang visiting the site.” Albert blinked and quickly ran through his mental roster of the gang. He tried to remember which ‘Tacitus Kilgores’ haven’t written to Arthur recently.

“I see. Which one, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“A lesser member, they never had their name in the papers,” Milton dismissed. “Don’t worry, they’ve been taken into custody. In fact, they may prove useful in tracking down Mister Bell’s whereabouts, should you decide to hire us.”

It sounded like things were starting to wrap up.

_I need to get out of here before he makes me sign anything._

“I don’t doubt that. However, that is not an insignificant amount of money you’ve requested; you’ll understand if I want to revisit my finances and sleep on it first?” To his credit, Milton seemed all too understanding.

“Of course. Hardly anyone besides the really big players actually sign a contract on the first visit here; I’d be surprised if you did.” He rose from his seat, and signaled to the door so Albert likewise stood up. “But I have a feeling you’ll be back. You should know that we charge what we do because we run an efficient operation here. You may find a more palatable price with our competitors, but you’ll notice a drop in quality as well.”

Being given a sales pitch by a man who willingly kidnapped a child in broad daylight and joked about digging up graves was a surreal experience, to say the least. Albert mindlessly kept up the small talk as they descended back to the first floor. He strained his ears and eyes for any signs of a little boy being held against his will, but could discern none over Milton’s obnoxiously loud footsteps.

Once back in the main lobby, “Where can I best reach you, Mister Mason?”

Albert ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Funny thing, that; I technically don’t have an address at the moment.” Milton cocked an eyebrow.

“And why is that?”

“When I inherited my father’s fortune, I decided it was time for a change of scenery,” he began explaining. “Only problem is I haven’t decided where to yet. You could say I’m currently seeking out a new piece of property to buy and settle down in, but in the meantime I’m just bouncing from hotel to hotel.”

“While still performing your... _portrait photography_ career?”

“Correct.”

“Where you don’t have a permanent studio.” Albert only allowed the silence to lapse for a heartbeat.

“With luck that will change!,” he smiled. Milton did not give one in return.

“Here’s hoping.”

“Mister Milton, I assure you, once I have a valid mailing address, you’ll be the first to know. After my mother, of course!” He meant that last bit as a joke, but Milton’s stare only hardened.

“Your mother is still alive?”

Laughter dying out weakly, “...Yes?”

“And yet you were the sole inheritor of your father’s estate?” Pete had been keeping his head down, pretending to be writing something during this entire exchange, but at this he subtly raised his eyes to watch the two.

Albert reeled mentally and had to think of something fast. “My parents… they were separated you see, hardly spoke at all for the past ten years. A lot of hurt feelings between the two. It’s not something I like to talk about.”

Milton slightly bowed his head. “My apologies. I feel I have been unnecessarily rude to you today with all of my assumptions.”

“You’re just being thorough. Makes sense given your occupation,” Albert excused.

 _I need to get_ out _of here!_

“I’m glad you agree.”

“Well this has been an exciting experience. I’ll think about what you said, but you must forgive me, I have another appointment I need to get to.” He offered a hand to Milton, who took it, but they both instantly noticed Albert’s palms were uncomfortably sweaty.

Miraculously, Milton didn’t ask where this imaginary meeting was or who it was with, but he did wipe his hand off on his pants without a hint of subtlety. Albert tried making a break for it and was halfway out the unreasonably heavy door when the agent called out.

“Mister Mason!” Albert halted and looked back to see Milton gesturing at the gun belt resting on Pete’s desk. “Forgetting something?”

“Oh! Dear, I am rather clumsy today, thank you.” He scurried back to the desk as fast as was socially acceptable and awkwardly put the belt back on as best as his injured shoulder would allow. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“Of course. Wouldn’t want you to run into any outlaws out on the road without it.” He gave Albert a wink that was anything but comforting. There was no way he knew Albert was about to go meet up with an outlaw immediately after walking through the door; he wouldn’t have let him leave the office otherwise. Or would he? What if he somehow knew where he was going and wanted Albert to lead him straight to Arthur?

Albert took the very, _very_ long way to Doyle’s.

* * *

Thoroughly convinced that he wasn’t being tailed after criss-crossing all over town for an hour and a half, Albert finally turned his tired feet onto the street that would bring him to the dingiest bar in the city. He hoped it was still there; he honestly had no idea if it was still in operation. It would be embarrassing if it weren't, as he only just recently recommended it to Doctor Nate.

He soon found he didn’t have to worry however, once that _distinct_ smell of stale alcohol spilled and dried on the floor graced his nose. He entered through the front door and noticed that they had finally replaced that aging wallpaper opposite the bar counter, but the new pattern was already staining and sagging in parts. He also noticed that every single person in the venue was staring at him. Even the man playing at the piano in the back room was leaning back on his bench to see who this newcomer was. Albert stuck out like a sore thumb in his fine new clothes, but he was undeterred. He smiled at no one in particular and easily strode to the back room, letting the idle conversations slowly start back up in his wake. He found Arthur at a table for two in a corner, crowding his body over a half-filled beer bottle, absent-mindedly kicking away a concerningly large rat at his feet. The look of relief that fell on his face as Albert sat across from him was nothing short of therapeutic for the photographer.

“How’d it go?,” he whispered.

 _Felt like_ I _was the one who got interrogated..._

Albert sat sideways in the chair, back against the wall, and slid down it with poor posture. “Like I need a shot of gin first. And make it a double, please…”

* * *

_9/13/04_

_[Unfinished sketch of Albert from behind. He is seated at a desk, hunched over and reading under a desk lamp. There is no caption.]_

* * *

As he predicted, most of the letters Albert had collected from Manzanita Post were from far-flung colleagues, mostly hailing from universities in eastern states, offering congratulations on his successful speech in Denver. The letter from his mother was also full of its typical embellishments and flowery language, but contained nothing especially noteworthy. What _was_ noteworthy was Mary’s letter; she announced that she would be coming to Saint Denis within the next few weeks to visit her friend Eleanor again, and that she would like to see Albert and Arthur if they were at all available.

Their current situation made it difficult to plan more than a few _days_ in advance, let alone weeks. Albert would not send a response to that letter yet.

They had spent maybe two hours at Doyle’s earlier, Albert recounting what he had found out in hushed tones and the both of them trying to figure out what it all meant. He’d held back the bit about digging up Dutch’s grave however; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep Arthur from storming the office alone.

Now, later in the evening they were resting in a room they’d rented in the Hôtel la Licorne of all places; Albert was pleasantly surprised to see Madame Garnier was still running the place, and after butchering his way through a conversation with his woefully out-of-practice French they could finally take a much needed rest. At least in theory they could; Albert was still too wound-up from the encounter with Milton was still a little tipsy from the drinks that were intended to help him relax. Instead he found himself wanting a distraction, so he finally began pouring through all the letters he’d been carrying the past four days.

He was about to attempt to write a response to his mother’s letter when a wave of lethargy crashed over him and he suddenly lacked the will. He glanced at his pocket watch. _10:32 PM_ \- It had been a long day.

He turned around in the chair and saw Arthur, sitting upright in the bed, wearing only his pants and with one ankle resting over the other. Being next to a lamp allowed him to scribble away in his journal with ease. The way his muscles moved under his skin made them seem like perfectly-sculpted stone just under the surface, like he was a living statue and Albert to this day still marveled at the man’s body. 

_I should ask him to pose for me again. Maybe he’ll say yes this time._

When he looked up and they made eye contact, Arthur smiled in that way he didn’t realize he did every time he saw Albert.

“You look tired,” Arthur mused. His mood improved considerably once Albert had returned from the office, but Albert could not say the same. He blinked and ran a hand over his face.

“I am.” Letting his eyes fall to the journal, “What are you sketching?”

Arthur flipped it over so Albert could see the beginnings of a sketch, but he couldn’t quite make it out over the distance. “You.”

“Why me?” Arthur shrugged and turned the book back to himself.

“I dunno. I like drawin' you.” Albert couldn’t help but shake his head and chuckle at that. It was such a simple reason. He missed things being simple. He cast a stray glance out to the window of their first floor room and didn’t see much besides the amber glow of a streetlight. The room was quiet for a moment, save for the scratches of Arthur’s pencil against the page and the comically slow-spinning ceiling fan above them.

“I don’t know what we’re gonna do,” Albert sighed.

“Hey. We don’t gotta talk about that right now.” Arthur folded up his journal and placed it on the bedside table next to him so he could pat on his chest. Albert was instantly reminded of the night in Mary’s home where this same scene played out, but it felt different this time. He wished he could go back to a time when public speaking and government conservation policy were the biggest worries on his mind; back to a time before he could say he was _shot._ Still, he dutifully played his part in this little game of theirs and rolled his eyes before slinking over to the bed.

Head resting on Arthur’s bare chest, legs tangled up and arms securing each other in place, it was a familiar and comforting position. The aching shoulder was new, but Albert would deal with it.

As if he could read his mind, Arthur asked, “How’s your shoulder?”

“It’s fine,” he answered truthfully. “Felt better after taking a break from riding Penny today.” Arthur hummed in thought.

“Sorry if I pushed you too hard on the ride over here. We can take more breaks from now on if you want.”

“If it was that bad, I would’ve spoken up. It just needs more time to heal.” Arthur’s hand that had been freely roaming up and down Albert’s back settled on his right tricep and gave it a small squeeze.

“Let’s hope that happens before you start losing all this muscle.”

Albert scoffed, _“What_ muscle?” Arthur chuckled deeply; Albert always liked hearing that sound when they were pressed together like this.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you turnin’ into a mountain man on me. You’re not that scrawny little city feller I found in the woods anymore. I see you chopping wood and bringin’ in groceries from the wagon in one trip like a showoff.” It was true, but that didn’t mean Albert liked to brag about it. He propped himself up on his good elbow to stare Arthur down.

“Oh, you mean the things you _won’t_ do?”

“You never ask,” he smirked. _Wiseass._

Albert resumed his position and spent a while trying to will his mind to relax, to forget about the unexpectedly harrowing experience with Milton today. Arthur’s absurd talk of building muscle and carrying out daily but physically demanding tasks around the house brought back happy memories of their home that seemed longer ago than they really were. Hard to believe it was barely a month ago that they were getting ready to leave for Denver and-

He suddenly sat upright in the bed, ignoring the irritation in his shoulder. Arthur looked concerned, but waited in silence.

“Is today the twelfth?”

“No, that was yesterday. Why?”

“Do you know what yesterday was?” Arthur tried to think, but came up with nothing and just slowly shook his head. “Yesterday was one month since the meteor shower.”

Arthur smiled warmly as the implication registered. “Yeah, I guess it was…” He cautiously took Albert’s hands into his own and looked up with pleading eyes. “You sure you still wanna spend the rest of your life with me? Even with everything that’s goin’ on?” A laugh escaped Albert and he nodded, as if it were ever really a question.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than by your side. ‘Everything goin’ on’ notwithstanding.” Arthur was unimpressed by the mocking impersonation, but only for a moment.

“That’s nothin’ short of a miracle if you ask me… 

“The first of many more to come, I’m sure.” Albert looked upon his husband affectionately, no doubt a lingering effect of the alcohol from earlier. He got a familiar and devious look in return however.

“Maybe we should celebrate.”

Knowing full well where this was going, Albert faked a sigh. “Oh, but I don’t feel like going out again tonight...”

“And I don’t feel like gettin’ dressed again.” Arthur slid his hands down to either side of Albert’s hips. Without even needing to be guided, he slid over to straddle on top of Arthur as if by second nature.

“Oh, whatever shall we do?”

“We’ll figure something out.” Arthur reached up and grabbed the new tie Albert was still wearing and slowly pulled him down into a kiss. It was when hips instinctively began bucking against each other and brand new clothes were shucked onto the floor to be forgotten that Albert finally found that distraction he was looking for.

They both hated the games, the charades and lies they had to play up out in public. Shaking hands instead of openly embracing during greetings and farewells, pretending to be widowed cousins instead of lovers. It was safer this way, in a world that wasn’t ready or able to understand their lives, and they both accepted it as such despite their misgivings. But it was moments like these, locked behind closed doors or out in the wilderness without another soul around for miles, these were the moments where the doublespeech and secret glances didn’t matter. Where it was all worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where I finally realized I abuse the hell out of semicolons; I just think they’re neat! I also go really out of the way to avoid using the word “because” and I don’t know why.
> 
> Lots of plot seeds planted in this chapter. I think it definitely made sense to do the perspective shift to a different character because otherwise it would’ve just been Arthur sitting at a bar for a few hours waiting to have a conversation that would just be explainer exposition.
> 
> Also Milton finally makes an appearance. I wasn’t gonna pull a Fifth Element situation where the main protagonists and main antagonist never meet face-to-face, and this isn’t the last we’ll see of Milton. I was trying to make him come off as a naturally inquisitive person who really sucked at making jokes, and that Albert got out of there by the skin of his teeth; hopefully I nailed that (see? I just did it again!).
> 
> I was also aiming for a slightly different narrative style for seeing things from Albert’s perspective by using more descriptive prose, more internal dialogue and a lot more questions. I like to imagine that Albert is even more observant than he lets on (hence the more detailed descriptions), but his mind can definitely work against him with the leaps of logic he makes. Like with Milton stomping up and down the stairs loudly, that wasn’t actually significant so much as Albert was already wigging out/reading too much into it and I thought it’d be a funny character trait to give Milton (some people just have unreasonably loud footsteps). We also got to see just how much Respect Arthur Juice that Albert is chugging on a daily basis.
> 
> Finally I just really wanted to mirror that scene when Arthur enters the fancy Saint Denis saloon for the first time and the whole place just comes to a record-screeching halt to look at him; I think that’s such a funny trope.
> 
> For everyone who didn’t like it, we’ll be jumping back to Arthur’s point-of-view in the next chapter.


	12. 6-34-32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert comes up with a plan. Arthur doesn't like it, but agrees anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the ship name for Arthur Morgan/Albert Mason is “2AM”, would Arthur Morgan/Albert Mason/Andrew Milton be “3AM”? Ugh, my MIND.
> 
> There’s some mentions of gore/body horror this chapter, which you probably could’ve expected based on what was discussed in the last chapter, but it’s only for a short section.
> 
> Also lots of (linear) time skips in this one, just a heads up. This chapter picks up the morning after where the last one left off.
> 
> _UPDATE- This chapter was updated for minor edits on 11/26/2020_

_9/14/04_

_[Sketch of Albert standing at the water’s edge, fishing rod in hand. Caption reads “Showoff”.]_

* * *

The way the morning sun reflected off the calm surface of the Lannahechee River and directly into Arthur’s eyes reminded him of the powerful forward lamp of an oncoming train. It was blinding and obscured everything in his peripheral vision, much like that night years ago in the Heartlands; standing on top of a stolen oil tank and staring down a hundred thousand tons of steel, daring it to engulf them both in a fiery end. While John’s plan had worked for the most part and the robbery could be considered a success, Arthur still would have done that night differently if he could do it again. The night Albert watched him take a life for the first time. The night he finally understood what kind of man Arthur was. It was a difficult and challenging experience that threatened to derail their budding relationship, if you could even call it that at that point. He still remembered the ghastly look on his face in the back of that passenger car and how that moment changed everything. How they could never go back to the way things were and how it-

The bob dipped under the water.

Arthur yanked the fishing rod back and felt the line pull taut. 

“I got one!”

“I see that,” Albert said. He didn’t sound particularly impressed; he spoke like a parent would to an excited child who was presenting something completely benign and ordinary. Arthur was too excited to notice that however.

“Told you I still got it.” Some fifteen feet away to his right, so as to not tangle their lines, Albert slowly cranked the reel of his own rod.

“Never said you didn’t.”

“Yeah, but you were thinkin' it,” he accused. “Ever since you started fancyin’ yourself a master fisherman you think I can’t keep up with you no more.”

“I believe the term is ‘Master Angler,’” he said in that tone he used when humble-bragging. He was right, as usual, but Arthur turned his focus to the battle at hand.

For whatever reason, Albert had insisted that they checked out and left the Hôtel la Licorne early that morning. Even if Milton himself was no longer in the city, it was safer to leave and not risk being seen together, and they still had a few days before they would have to return for this second meeting with John and Charles. The journey out of the city found them just north of it, along the banks of the great river that divided the country. After Arthur used his shotgun to spook off some lazy alligators, they set up and tried to catch some fish to save for later in the evening.

Albert frowned as he looked out to his own slack fishing line. “I wish I had my big river lure.”

In-between grunts - _damned thing’s puttin’ up a fight!_ \- Arthur joked, “What, instead of your ‘little’ river lure?”

“My _small_ river lure…” He then grumbled softer so that Arthur had trouble hearing, “and there _is_ a difference…”

“If you say so. All my life I’ve just been using worms and anything that floats. I’m tellin’ you, you don’t really need-“ Arthur’s words were literally smacked out of his mouth as his rod suddenly slammed back into his face and the line went completely slack into the water.

Neither of them spoke for a few seconds.

“You should have tired it out more instead of fighting it so much…,” Albert stated with just a touch more snark than Arthur cared for.

“I’ll tire _you_ out…,” Arthur muttered as he reeled in what remained of his line.

“Oh believe me, you accomplished that last night, love.”

Despite being the only two people around for miles in the low-lying wetlands, Arthur still found himself blushing.

“Shut the hell up, Mason.” Albert complied, but more so out of contentment at his small victory in getting Arthur flustered.

Pulling the line all the way in, Arthur’s fears were confirmed; he’d have to re-string a new hook and start over. He didn’t have any spares and was too proud to ask Albert for one, so he decided to just call it a day and collapse his rod down in defeated silence. He stored it away in Ivy’s saddlebag before taking the time to fawn over her and brush her down. That only earned him jealous head nudges from Penny, just about the only emotion the older horse ever expressed, and he relented and pampered her down too. The only noteworthy thing Arthur paid attention to during this half hour or so were a pair of men heading north on the distant road that he waved to.

When he finally walked back over to stand next to Albert, he silently noted the two fresh bass that were wrapped in newspapers on the ground between them. He hadn’t even noticed when Albert had caught them, injured shoulder notwithstanding, but didn’t want to go stroking the man's ego any more. They stood, side-by-side, watching the slow boat traffic go up and down the river in the distance as the sun climbed higher in the sky and the lingering chill in the air burned off.

“So... I’ve been thinking…,” Albert began.

“Yer always thinkin’.”

“What can I say? I find it to be a useful tool. I invite you to try it sometime.” Arthur cast an unimpressed look to his right, but Albert didn’t meet it, instead opting to keep his focus and small smile trained straight ahead.

_He always gets cheeky like this after a lay._

Arthur crossed his arms and leaned his weight back onto one foot. “Alright, let’s hear it then.” Albert mindlessly cranked the reel just to keep it moving, but seemed to struggle with how to begin.

“You’re not gonna like this.”

 _“Buuut_ you’re gonna tell me anyway, aren’t you?”

“I think we need to find this serial killer.”

Arthur pursed his lips in thought and nodded subtly after a moment. He gently gave Albert two pats on the back and walked away back to the horses.

“Arthur, I’m serious!”

“No… no you’re not. ‘Cus if you were, that would mean you wanted to do Milton’s job for him.”

Crying over his shoulder, “I do!” Arthur stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose, but did not turn around.

“And why is that?”

“To undercut him. Will you let me explain?” Seeing Arthur wasn’t preventing him from doing so, he continued. “I keep thinking back on everything he told me yesterday and as best as I can make out, there are three possible scenarios.”

Arthur threw his head back towards the sky, sighed, then plodded back over to hear Albert out.

“First, I can assume that he was actually considering me as a potential client and told me the truth. That he really only has one job on his plate right now, dealing with these unexplained murders.”

“What the hell does that have to do with Jack and the rest of us?,” Arthur asked.

“Nothing at all. Maybe he’s stringing these poor families along and just using them for their money. Which means he lied in Charles’ letter about who hired him.”

“Why would he say he has a ‘powerful client’ coming after us then?”

“To scare us? Either that, or because of the second scenario I think is possible.”

Arthur caught the way he said, ‘scare _us.’_ Albert’s name wasn’t on anyone’s list and Milton didn’t even know he existed before yesterday. Yet he still considered himself to be just as involved as the rest of them. It reminded him of their last night in Armadillo.

_‘Then they’re my enemies too,’ is what he said. I really don’t deserve this man._

Arthur blinked back to the present. “Maybe. What’s this second version?”

“That he withheld information from me. Maybe he has another job and a secret client that he didn’t mention, and he just used the serial killer business to distract me.” Not outside the realm of possibility, Arthur conceded.

“And the third?”

Shrugging with just one shoulder, “That he simply _lied_ to me. I haven’t heard anything about a string of unexplained murders. Granted, I haven’t been keeping up with current events as of late, but that could’ve been a made-up story to cover for his actual client that hired him to do all this in the first place.” Arthur could see where this was going now.

“And you wanna find out if it’s real?”

“Worst-case scenario is, what? We find out these murders aren’t actually happening and Milton lied to me?”

“No, worst-case scenario is we get our heads chopped off by some lunatic!”

“Oh, please, you wouldn’t let that happen to me,” he dismissed.

It took a conscious effort not to look at Albert’s shoulder, but Arthur was still thinking about it. About what he still considered to be a personal failure on his part.

Ignoring the comment, Arthur asked the next logical question, “And how’re we goin’ to find a serial killer that hasn’t been killin’ in a while?” That stumped Albert.

“That… that part I haven’t figured out yet, but it makes sense, doesn’t it? If we find out it’s true, _and_ we manage to turn the man in, Milton will run out of a source of money. Collecting a bounty for ourselves would just be the cherry on top.”

Arthur scratched his jaw, still unconvinced. “Then what, he’ll just hand Jack over and say it was all a big mistake?”

“Wouldn’t that be nice… Look, I’m not saying this is a silver bullet, but he’s clearly got multiple people involved. Between whoever’s holding Jack, that agent that’s staying with Abigail and whoever is holding captive whoever they caught at Dutch’s grave, that’s at least three paychecks Milton has to keep on top of. And if we knock out a source of income, maybe that’ll change the math.”

Arthur let his mind stray momentarily at the mention of Dutch’s grave. The idea that Milton had found it twisted a knot in his stomach, it just felt _wrong._ It was the closest thing Arthur considered to be sacred ground, second only to Hosea’s shared gravesite with Lenny and Sean. But moreso than that, the fact that one of the former gang members, someone that not that long ago he considered family, had gotten kidnapped at that site and Arthur didn’t know who it was or where they were; that was all just fuel to the simmering hatred he had toward the Pinkerton.

“And what if we’re wrong? What if we find this maniac, turn him and Milton is still causing problems?” Albert sighed, trying to think of a placating response.

“Then I guess we made the world a better place for no personal gain? Again, not the worst outcome.”

Sounding skeptical, “A better place, huh?”

“I think having fewer serial killers improves the overall state of the universe, yes. ...Even if we have to kill him to do it,” he added sheepishly at the end. Arthur chuckled and shook his head.

“You’re startin’ to sound like Sadie.”

“Ah, has she given you the ‘overall number of killers’ talk as well?”

“Something like that…”

Arthur weighed the idea in his mind. It seemed like a distraction, like they could make better use of their time looking for Jack directly, but they didn’t really have any leads at all. With luck John and Charles would find the boy up in the northeast, but in the meantime it wasn’t like Albert could march back into that office and directly ask about the situation with the Marstons; that would throw up a bunch of red flags to any agent worth their salt. And they still had just under two weeks before their meeting with John again, and they’d still have another full month after _that_ before this deadline that Milton imposed.

And in any case, Arthur didn’t really have any ideas of his own on what to do next. He did his best work when being told what to do, and Dutch and Hosea were the ones that always came up with the schemes. Seemed Albert ended up in that role now, albeit for entirely different motivations.

He was so wrapped up in his swirling thoughts for a few minutes that he hadn’t even noticed Albert had hooked another fish until it was being reeled up onto the shore. The other man bent down with his knife to get to work on the third bass, bigger than the first two he caught that morning.

With feigned concern, Albert complained, “Oh dear, I seem to have run out of newspaper. Wasn’t expecting to have so much luck today. Would you mind getting me some more?” He looked up from the ground to give Arthur a playful smile, who rolled his eyes in return.

_Showoff… Least we’re eating good tonight._

Arthur made a real show of returning back to Ivy to see what he had stored on her. In doing so, he noticed the same two men he saw earlier were heading south, back towards the city, but still keeping a healthy distance away from the impromptu fishing spot.

Arthur assumed they were just lost, and came back to Albert with an old newspaper he was hanging onto. It wasn’t like he was going to be catching dinner himself anytime soon.

* * *

Some twenty feet behind him, Albert was vomiting into a bush. Arthur couldn’t blame him.

The scene before them was downright nightmarish. The word that kept coming to Arthur’s mind was ‘unnecessary.’ He’d seen more violence and death than most people would across multiple lifetimes - Lord knows he’d doled out more than his fair share as well - but even this gave him pause. It was one thing to kill a man in self defense or revenge or even sheer spontaneous anger, but this was something different altogether. This took planning. This was deliberate. But there was no evident reason as to why.

A man’s torso, missing the head and everything below the waist, was suspended before Arthur by ropes tied around the wrists to the branches of the large tree towering above him. One of the larger branches had the word “BEHOLD” written with white chalk. “Behold” what, Arthur didn’t know. Whoever this man was, his entrails were spilled onto the ground beneath him.

_Not gonna be sketchin' this one._

“Guess it’s a good thing I ran into that hunter who knew what the hell I was talkin’ about.” Arthur’s off-hand comment was met with the sounds of more dry-heaving in the distance.

It had only been two days since that morning by the river when they decided to take this task up. Albert had scoured through any newspapers he could get his hands on and found the usual mentions of missing persons, but those could be attributed to any number of things. Instead, Arthur tried an approach he was more familiar with; living in Tall Trees for the better part of the last five years taught him that nothing happened in those woods without the local hunters knowing about it. He sought out a trapper near the banks of the Kamassa River and overheard a mention of this grisly scene just outside the Braithwaite Manor.

There was only about an hour of daylight left, and Arthur wasn’t too keen on making another trip out here tomorrow, so he took a step back and really studied the space for clues. He noticed a trail of blood - _Christ, that’s a lotta blood…_ \- circling around to the back of the tree. A quick glance back confirmed that Albert was going to be as fine as he could be for the next few moments, so Arthur readied his double-barreled shotgun and slowly circled the large trunk.

Some severed toes and other unidentifiable chunks of human flesh peppered the morbid route around to the other side of the tree. The severed head on a pike startled him, and he immediately wheeled around at the sound of a random twig snapping.

Albert, noticeably paler than normal, froze as he found himself at the wrong end of the shotgun. Arthur winced and immediately lowered his aim.

“Sorry. You spooked me.” Albert lowered his hands and tried to straighten out his disheveled clothes as best he could.

“No, I think you’re right to be on high alert. I don’t know if whoever’s responsible is nearby, but even if they’re not, I don’t want some random passerby seeing us here and thinking _we’re_ responsible.”

“I’ll try to be quick then.” Motioning with his head, “Go wait by the horses.” But Albert stood his ground.

“No. This was my idea, I want to help.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” Albert stepped forward to get past Arthur. “In a way I almost feel a duty to- _oh dear god.”_ Whatever his train of thought was, it came to a screeching halt at the sight of the head. He was able to fight down a sick-sounding burp however.

“I was gonna give you a heads up about that.” Albert shot him a disgusted look over his shoulder and it took Arthur a moment to register why. “...I didn’t mean that as a joke.”

Turning back around unconvinced, Albert willed himself to look at the man’s head and Arthur followed with his own eyes. They both noticed the rolled-up paper jammed into the head’s mouth at the same time. Albert tentatively reached a wavering hand out, but ultimately pulled it back.

“You do it.”

“Why me? You’re closer.”

“You’re wearing gloves.”

Sanitation was the last thing on Arthur’s mind; he was going to need three baths after this before he could feel clean again, but he relented anyway. Swinging the shotgun back over his shoulder, Arthur stepped forward and carefully extracted the paper from the mouth and unrolled it. Both living men huddled closer together to inspect it.

One side had “III” written in the top left, a sketch of a combination lock with the numbers “6-34-32” written above it and a second, cut-off sketch of some kind of cellar door into the ground. The flip side simply read “ME?” in red lettering that Arthur doubted was ink.

“What the hell is this about?”

“It’s obviously a clue of some kind. See this edge?” Albert pointed at the torn edge of the paper, which was different from the other three that were cleaner. “It looks like it was separated from a larger sheet. That likely explains the ‘three’ in Roman numerals.”

“So we gotta find two more of these?”

“I really hope not, but that may be the case.” Arthur rolled the paper up into his satchel for safe-keeping and gave the severed head one last look.

“Great. Just peachy…”

* * *

_9/17/04_

_[Sketch of Ivy and Penny, hitched in front of a building.]_

* * *

Just about the only thing Rhodes had going for it was mild winters, but that wasn’t quite relevant in mid-September and hardly went far enough to outweigh all the bad. Even now, sitting on the front porch of the hotel not even an hour after sunrise, Arthur found himself uncomfortably warm and patting away that awful red dust off of his pants. Finishing that, he crossed one leg over the other to get back to his sketch of the girls.

He hardly slept at all. Not merely because of the hellish display they came across the previous day, but because they were followed by two men back to Rhodes. Arthur didn’t mention it to Albert, not wanting to worry him, but it was obvious they were tailed. Who by, he couldn’t say, but he was willing to bet it had something to do with the two men he saw by the banks of the river as they fished that first morning out of the city. Every so often he would lift his eyes up, pretending to study the horses, but was actually trying to see if anyone was watching him.

And of course, people were. Rhodes was a small town of old families that all knew each other. Outsiders were always reminded that they were not from here, either by the not-at-all subtle glares or by more direct means. As if on cue, a middle-aged gentleman, maybe around Arthur’s age, exited the hotel, stared at Arthur for a full ten seconds, did not return his friendly, ‘good morning,’ and then just walked off without saying a word.

_Hate this goddamn place._

Another reason Arthur did not sleep well the previous night was because it was the first time in a long while he hadn’t slept next to his husband. When he first tried renting a room for the night things almost came to blows with the hotel clerk, and Albert’s diplomatic skills only went so far towards rectifying the situation. After some insinuations that Arthur didn’t care for at all, they opted to rent separate rooms. And of course the hotel had enough vacancies because who the hell would want to come to _Rhodes?_

Arthur had thrown his key on the floor in front of the desk in a final act of pettiness and was now seated out front, waiting for Albert to wake up so they could get on the road. Where to, they hadn’t decided, but just crossing the state border would be enough to improve Arthur’s mood.

While he was focusing on a particularly tricky rendition of Ivy’s eye, a friendly voice pulled his mind away from his sketchwork.

“Hey, it’s Arthur! _Thought_ I smelled something funny.”

He instinctively snapped his journal shut and raised his eyes over the railing. Several feet away, Javier was mounted on a black and white American Paint in the middle of the town’s main road.

“They’ll let anyone in this town it seems,” he quipped right back with a growing smile. He tucked his journal into his satchel and stepped off the hotel’s porch as Javier dismounted.

“Well no one _let_ me.” The two old friends briefly hugged and while they were close, Javier whispered, “and between you and me, I don’t wanna stay for long.”

“I don’t blame you,” Arthur chuckled as they pulled away. He looked at the horse he hadn’t seen since his days in the gang and affectionately patted its neck. “Thought you said you sold Boaz?”

“I did. But I got him back.”

“You found the guy you sold him to and bought him back?”

“I got. Him back,” Javier repeated with a wink.

 _So it’s like_ that.

“Alright. Well, what’re you doin’ here?” Javier used both his arms to gesture towards Arthur.

“I was looking for you!” Arthur blinked. He wasn’t sure why that surprised him.

“Well here I am. How’d you know I was here?”

“I had some of my boys looking around for you. They said you might be here, but they weren’t sure it was you because you weren’t traveling alone. Wanted to see for myself.” Javier kept up his friendly smile through all of this, but the admission did not bring Arthur relief. He tried not to let it show however.

With a touch of anger tinging his voice, _“You_ sent those guys after me? Thought I was goin’ crazy, imagining it was some other gang or Pinkertons or something.”

Javier lowered his voice again when he said, “Nah, just some Mercer Boys far away from home. They’re a little shy though, sorry if they worried you.”

“Uh huh.” Arthur crossed his arms, feeling strangely defensive. “So what do you wanna see me for?” The other man finally dropped his friendly demeanor in favor of something more serious.

“I think I have a lead on something. North of Lagras.”

“Out in the swamps? I just got outta there, I don’t wanna go back just yet.”

“You got a better idea?,” he challenged. Arthur rubbed the back of his neck.

“Kinda… You been hearin’ something about a serial killer? Some whackjob choppin’ people up and cutting off heads?”

Javier recoiled his head back in confusion, but supplied almost immediately, “What, like that guy outside Valentine?”

“What guy?”

Javier briefly looked like he'd said too much, but then powered through, seemingly reluctantly. “I heard something like that happened a few days back by a train track. I didn’t see it for myself.”

“Sounds like my guy. I’m gonna go check that out now, thanks.” Javier drew his brows together in confusion.

“Wait, why are you looking into that? You think that has something to do with Milton?” Arthur threw a quick glance around their surroundings. Rhodes wasn’t an especially industrious town, and most of its residents were still inside at this early hour, but he knew the locals were all too eager for anything that could be turned into fresh gossip and he didn’t need Milton catching wind of Albert’s plan.

“Kinda, actually. Think that’s how he’s getting paid,” he whispered.

“A serial killer paid Milton to kidnap Jack?”

“What? No! All the folk this feller’s killed are paying Milton.”

Javier wasn’t following, and how could he with so little context to go off of, but before he could begin a new line of questioning, Albert exited from the front door of the hotel, small suitcase in hand.

“Oh. Good morning, Javier. I didn’t know you were in town.” Polite as ever. Javier likewise flipped on his smile like a switch.

“I was just swinging by to talk to Arthur, I was actually about to leave.” Rather abruptly he stepped back from Arthur and mounted up onto Boaz.

Confused, he looked up at his friend. “You sure? You could ride with us for a bit.”

“No, I gotta meet up with some of my boys, make sure they don’t get into too much trouble without me. We’re a long way from Fort Mercer, and they don’t know this place like I do. I’ll catch you later, Arthur, good luck.” He gave a loose salute to Albert on the front porch, who gave a confused wave in response, and spurred Boaz up the main road and turned out of sight at the general store.

The two men let their gazes linger in that direction, but nothing else happened until Albert spoke up, sounding apologetic.

“What was that about? Did I say something wrong?”

“I have no idea…”

* * *

_9/18/04_

_Javier’s tip paid off._

_That’s all I have to say about that._

* * *

The clerk standing behind the desk of the Saint’s hotel scowled at Arthur through the window in the front door. Not one to back down, Arthur was giving it right back. He took a step forward to enter the building when Albert physically placed himself to break Arthur's line of sight and put a hand out on his chest to stop him.

“Let me handle this. _Please?,”_ he pleaded. Arthur bristled, trying not to take his eyes off the clerk.

“What, you don’t think I can handle him?”

“I don’t know _what_ it is with you, but you cannot rent a room without starting a fight to save your life. And I want to _try_ and get a good night’s rest. Just stay here and let me do it.”

Arthur said nothing, opting to let his body language convey his acquiescence. It was the same clerk he first ran into trouble with five years ago, the one who had accused Arthur of being a bounty hunter trying to collect Albert and turn him in to the sheriff. Subsequent stays in Valentine over the years since provided ample opportunities for the two men to butt heads. He lingered outside, trying to look inconspicuous until Albert came back out two minutes later.

In a hushed tone he explained, “I had to lie and say you were camping outside of town, so you’ll have to wait a bit and sneak in through the balcony. We’re in the back room, upstairs; I’ll leave the door unlocked.” He was oblivious to the expression on Arthur’s face as he removed his suitcase from the back of Penny’s saddle.

“You kiddin’ me? I can’t even use the front door because of that fool?” Albert turned his head and actually _smiled_ at this display.

“That’s good! Act mad, really sell it.”

“I ain’t sellin’ it, I _am_ mad!” He clenched his fists at his sides and Albert’s widening grin did little to temper his mood.

 _“Very_ convincing. Are you sure you don’t have a background in theater?”

He shoved an amused Albert into Penny’s flank and trekked up the river of mud Valentine had the audacity to call a ‘road.’ An hour of brooding on the second floor of Smithfield’s and two drinks later he’d finally cooled off enough to attempt sneaking around to the back of the hotel. He quietly took the stairs up and found his way into the room easily enough. Albert was dressed down for the evening, barefoot, suspenders hanging lazily at his sides and only sporting an undershirt above the waist.

_Was this the room he brought Bill back to?_

Arthur willed the unwelcome thought away. He reminded himself that it was a long time ago.

After wedging a chair under the doorknob, Albert cocked a playful eyebrow at his husband. “Feeling any better?”

“I guess,” he gruffed back. The fight had long since left him and he was just tired at that point. He wasn’t sure how easily he’d sleep that night though; it was only a few hours earlier that they had found the second scene of carnage Javier described, and with it a second piece of the “clue.” Eddie finally had some stiff competition in the nightmare department.

“Glad to hear it; I missed you.” He gently tugged on Arthur’s collar into a quick kiss, but pulled a face and sniffed as he pulled back. “Were you drinking?”

“It was just two beers, relax.” Albert nodded, not seeming too pressed about it.

“Well if that’s all it was, I’m not worried. As long as you don’t get belligerently drunk and try fighting the clerk downstairs I trust your judgment.”

“Hey, now _there’s_ a fun idea if we’re still here tomorrow.” Arthur found his own joke more amusing than Albert did judging by the lack of a follow-up quip, so he got to disrobing for the night. As he undid his shirt buttons, he noted how strange it was that he’d picked up the habit at all. For most of his life while he was in the gang he always slept with his normal clothes on, only going so far as to remove his boots if he were in camp. He always had to be ready to fight or run at a moment’s notice, never really being able to let his guard down or be fully unprepared. Now, ever since living with Albert, it was almost harder to get under some covers if he was wearing anything more than a pair of pants, the dead of winter being the only exception.

Predictably, there was only one bed, because of the chronic mattress shortage everywhere west of the Lannahechee ever since the days of the first pioneers. But studying the room as Albert got himself comfortable in the bed with a new book, Arthur had a realization.

“Ain’t we been in this room before?” Albert looked up and around. Recognition crept into his voice as he responded.

“Yes. On that trip back from Strawberry.” Chuckling with soft amusement, “I can’t believe I didn’t notice that.”

The mattress creaked as Arthur climbed onto it, sliding in next to Albert. “You think they’ve washed the sheets since then?”

“Of course they have, this isn’t that _Rhodes_ hotel,” he said, putting as much distaste on the name as he could manage. Arthur didn’t hear the end of it about how bad Albert’s room was, and promptly changed the subject to avoid having that conversation again.

“So this was the second bed we ever shared?” Albert gave up on trying to read and closed his book. He looked out at nothing in particular as he thought about it.

“I suppose it was, yes.” A smile flashed across his face at the memory, “God, you were being so stubborn that night. I would’ve given you the bed if you’d just let me sleep on the floor.”

“I’m stubborn every night,” he pointed out. Then, nonchalantly he offered, “And maybe I wanted to be next to you.” He was lying on his back, looking up at the featureless ceiling, but he could feel Albert’s eyes studying him for a moment or two.

“...Did you know then? I mean, I had just told you about my preferences a few nights before that, but did you… _like_ me as more than a friend already?”

Arthur folded his hands behind his head and hummed. “I don’t know. I didn’t really have a word for it yet I don’t think. I knew I liked spending time with you but I didn’t think bein’ more than friends was really an option yet.” 

It was strange thinking back on those very early days of their relationship; it seemed they were always so focused on the present or working towards something in the future that they didn’t often take the time to reminisce on the past. And when they did talk about the good ol’ days, it was usually with the Marstons or Sadie or Charles and only focused on the gang’s hijinks or Albert’s life before Arthur. That brief period during the summer of 1899 didn’t come up very often in conversation.

“You know,” Arthur continued after a moment, “I never told you this but that night? Here in this room? You rolled over onto me in your sleep and it… it made me feel a way I didn’t know a man could.”

Albert thumbed at the edges of his book mindlessly. Softly, he asked, “If I tell you something, do you promise not to get mad?” Unlike the last time he asked that question, a small smile tugged at the corners of Albert’s mouth, but he still avoided eye contact.

“Of course.”

“...I wasn’t really asleep when I did that.” Arthur instantly propped himself up onto his elbows and looked to the man on his left.

Mocking a scandalous tone, _“Albert Mason!”_ The photographer covered his face with his hands in embarrassment. “Maybe you should turn that camera ‘round on yourself, sounds to me like _you’re_ the predator here.” That at least got a laugh out of him and he pulled his hands away from his face.

“I know, I know! I’m sorry! It’s just… god, you were so _handsome_ and I couldn’t believe you were still around after I told you my secret. I wanted to test the waters and see if it would... lead somewhere.”

“Yeah? And how’d that work out for you?,” Arthur teased.

“It worked out miserably as you can see for yourself. Now I’m stuck with you!,” he joked as he held Arthur’s hand and pointed at the simple gold band on the ring finger. They both laughed softly, but after the moment subsided, Arthur met his eyes again.

“Did _you_ know then?” Albert blushed again, but soldiered on anyway.

“I... knew that I would be open to it. But I assumed it was just wishful thinking on my part and it would never happen. I didn’t want to risk pushing you away or ending our friendship. Remember, that was before I met Mary; I really didn’t have any other friends out here yet.” It was another facet of that summer that Arthur frequently forgot; he had a whole family back at camp, fractured as it was towards the end, but Albert had left his home for this part of the country completely alone. Which hardly seemed fair; as far as Arthur was concerned, Albert deserved to have as many friends as he wanted.

“Well I’m glad everything turned out the way it did,” Arthur spoke softly. And he meant it. And Albert knew that he meant it.

“Me too.” After a pause, Albert set the book aside and laid down on his back. He patted on his chest for Arthur to come lay on top of him and he did, enjoying the familiar friction of their bodies as he did so. The nights were starting to get just cold enough that they could lay like this comfortably for a long time, almost long enough to fall asleep like that.

They both staved off dreams of violence and blood that night.

* * *

Morning had them part their separate ways after a brief breakfast shared in the room. Albert wanted to try taking some photographs of ranch hands working the auction yards for his project - “I haven’t forgotten about it you know!” - and Arthur again begged him to ask for permission before taking someone’s photo. After that, he was careful to sneak out the back entrance again and hung around the butcher’s stand to trade gossip with the man and any hunters that came to stop by. They couldn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know, and it seemed the body they had found yesterday by the rail truss was old news to anyone who left the town's limits.

After two fruitless hours of this, the next best thing he could think of was to pick the sheriff’s brains for any new information. If it was still the same man working there, Arthur hoped that all those bounties he brought in during the gang’s brief time at Horseshoe Overlook bought him some good favor. Walking up to the lawman’s office however, he was met with a bit of a spectacle. Several locals, mostly men because that’s just how Valentine was, were circled around the front of the building watching something with amusement and shouts of encouragement.

“You’re not gonna let her get away with that, are ya?”

_“Kick his ass!”_

Arthur fought his way into the small crowd to catch a glimpse of what was happening.

He was met with the sight of a man, looking extremely disheveled, his arms tied behind his back, circling and frantically kicking at none other than Sadie Adler. She was managing to keep out of his range, but her patience was wearing thin if her expression wasn’t anything to go by.

“Just shoot him already and be done with it!,” a woman cried.

“He’s worth more alive!,” she shot back without looking at the spectator.

The man, presumably a bounty who was making a last-ditch attempt at freedom, wound back his foot and swung wide, kicking Sadie in the flank. She caught and grabbed his leg however, and delivered her own swift knee to his exposed groin. The entire crowd winced. She pulled her bounty closer and grabbed him by the collar, just as she picked out Arthur’s face in the crowd.

“Arthur?”

He gave a slight wave but instantly regretted distracting her; the bounty recovered enough to head-butt Sadie in the face. She held onto him though, and promptly delivered her own head-butt in response, knocking her hat off in the process. After that the man slumped to the ground with a groan and was still.

Sensing the show was over, the gathering of locals began to disperse with a smattering of “served him right”s and “that’s what you get”s. Arthur lingered behind and was about to offer to pick the unconscious man up when he remembered who he was dealing with. Sure enough, Sadie re-situated her hat on her head and was already pulling the bounty into an over-the-shoulder carry.

She huffed and said, “I’ll be with you in just a minute, honey.” He returned her wink with a tip of his hat and found a comfortable-looking post to lean against. A few minutes later she emerged from the sheriff’s office, victoriously counting a good stack of cash and sporting a redness on her right cheek where the man had head-butted her. Arthur pushed off of his post and approached her.

“So who was your ‘friend’ you just brought in there?” She rolled her eyes in exasperation and tucked the money away.

“Some _asshole_ who had me trackin’ him across Ambarino for the past week. Wanted for trampling a man to death with his horse and then runnin’ away, but he couldn’t hide from _me.”_

He plastered a sarcastic grin on his face and said, “Who’d wanna hide from you? You’re the most polite, mild-mannered woman I know!”

“Shut up and c’mere, you,” she groused. He let her pull him into a strong hug and was thankful to see another friendly face. She pulled back briefly and looked around before asking, “Where’s Al?”

Gesturing loosely at the air with a hand, “He’s floatin’ around somewhere with his camera, he ain’t far.” That seemed to satisfy Sadie and she rested her hands on her hips.

“Well good, I always like seeing my boys.” She instinctively reached a hand up to feel her face and winced at the touch, but she pressed on. “What brought you out here though? Didn’t know you’d be leaving home again so soon.”

Arthur didn’t even know where to begin. He took a _deep_ sigh.

“How much time you got?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s stupid, but I just love this running joke I’ve created of Arthur getting into fights every time he has to rent a room for the night.
> 
> This felt like a weak chapter to me because it was just sowing more plot seeds for future chapters and going through the motions of a side quest we’re probably all familiar with, but they can’t all be show-stoppers with cliffhangers. Hopefully all this build up will make the eventual payoff that much more rewarding; I want to just get to the stuff I have planned like five or six chapters ahead already, but I gotta get us there first in a way that makes sense. In the meantime, we’ll take the cameos and fluff that we think we deserve.


	13. An Expiration, An Execution, An Extortion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sadie reveals some new information and Arthur asks a favor of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Google Docs document I’m writing in is getting so huge that whenever I accidentally rotate my phone to landscape the app just crashes. And now whenever I type out a whole sentence I have to wait like ten seconds for the screen to catch up with the inputs before I can begin the next one.
> 
> Did I spend fifteen minutes looking through a list of all the words in the English language that begin with “ex-” just to force an alliterative chapter title? I won’t say, but I will say that there are a lot more of them than I originally thought.
> 
> This chapter picks up later in the same day where the last one left off.
> 
> _UPDATE- This chapter was updated for minor edits on 11/26/2020_

Aside from a few initial sips, Sadie had barely touched her drink over the past hour.

 _“Shit…,”_ was about all she could manage. Arthur found it to be an appropriate reaction.

He leaned back on the couch tucked away in the corner of Smithfield’s second floor. Instinctively he almost threw an arm over Albert’s shoulders to his right, but refrained just before he did so. The venue wasn’t terribly crowded yet in the late afternoon, but it was always safer to avoid wandering eyes and stray comments that threatened to follow them out of the building later.

Instead he kept his hands to himself, feigning interest at picking the label off of his beer bottle in thought. “That’s more or less what’s been goin’ on, we miss anything, Al?” They’d covered Jack, the list of names, finding Bill and Javier, Albert’s injury, the Thieves’ Landing meeting, the Micah situation, Albert’s meeting with Milton and now the serial killer they were trying to find.

“You forgot to mention the next meeting.” Turning to Sadie seated on another couch to his right, Albert explained, “Later this week we’re meant to meet with John and Charles again in Saint Denis. That’ll be one month since this began, one month until they’ll issue an arrest for John. Although I don’t believe we ever specified an exact location?” That last question was directed back at Arthur on his left, who simply shrugged.

Sadie shook her head and ignored the mention of the second meeting however. “I don’t get it though, why’d he wait so long? Why’s this all happening _now?”_

“Sounds like someone got rounded up at Dutch’s grave, but we don’t know who yet,” Arthur said. It still bothered him that he didn’t know who it was, or what happened to them since.

“You think they squealed?,” Sadie asked. She narrowed her eyes. “Bet you it was Pearson.”

“You’re still holdin’ a grudge against that man because he made you chop up some carrots? That ain’t no way to treat a veteran.” Sadie shot daggers out of her eyes at Arthur, but he laughed it off.

Albert saw what she was getting at however. “It’s possible though. Maybe they didn’t willingly or _intentionally_ help Milton, but he found out where the Marstons were living shortly afterwards.” Sadie wore a focused expression as she stared down at the floor before looking back up to her left.

“You said Charles’ letter mentioned something about a new client?” Albert nodded and she continued, “Who the hell could that be?”

“We got no clue,” Arthur admitted. “Cornwall’s dead, Colm’s dead, the Braithwaites and Grays probably think _we’re_ all dead… Guess it coulda been someone I’m not thinking of, but those were the big players with money to throw around.”

A momentary smirk flashed across Sadie’s face at the mention of Colm’s name, but she soon returned to a serious and concerned demeanor. “And Milton just happened to get a lead on John the same time he gets a new client? That’s too much of a coincidence, I don’t buy it,” she said, shaking her head.

Albert contested, “The Pinkertons are a for-profit agency though. If there’s no client then why would Milton go through all the trouble?”

“Maybe he just wants to collect our bounties for himself,” Arthur mused. It was the first time he’d considered sheer, simple greed to be a motivation. It felt like a eureka moment, a sudden insight or moment of unusual clarity, but Sadie sharply scoffed at the suggestion.

“Ain’t no bounty hangin’ over your head anymore…” It was such a benign statement, delivered so casually that Arthur thought he misheard her.

“What did you just say?” Sadie looked over and her expression slowly changed from dismissive to pitied.

“Arthur, you don’t think people are still lookin’ for you, do you?” Albert looked between the two, equally confused, but said nothing.

“Sadie, I got-“ He caught himself and leaned forward, lowering his voice, “I got a _five thousand_ dollar bounty on my head.”

“And where would someone go to get that kind of money?” She paused, then leaned forward herself, so Albert joined in on this impromptu huddle. “Listen, I’m about to tell you a dirty secret about my line of work: bounties _expire.”_

As if he could read Arthur’s mind, Albert said, “I’ve never heard that before.”

“‘Cus they don’t want people to know about it. Think about it; say you’ve got a sheriff’s office hanging onto five thousand dollars cash just sittin’ there doing _nothing_ for a few years. Then a new mayor comes into town and needs some money for a campaign promise or something but doesn’t wanna raise taxes. Where’s that money gonna come from?”

“That can’t be legal,” Albert said after a pause, but he didn’t sound like he was convincing even himself by saying it. Sadie threw up her hands dismissively.

“I mean, I don’t know if it’s legal or not, but it happens. I mean sure, some green upstart could still grab Arthur here and turn him in to the law, but they won’t get the full price of his bounty. That’s why most bounty hunters who know what they’re doin’ wouldn’t waste their time on him. And I know for a _fact_ no one’s sittin’ on that kind of money right now, not even Saint Denis. Especially not for the whole amount everyone on that list is worth.”

It felt as if an invisible weight was being lifted off of Arthur’s shoulders in real time, but he could only sit there in stunned disbelief. He zoned out as Albert and Sadie went back and forth over some finer details of bounties, but it took a minute for Arthur to reconcile this new reality and find his words again.

“And you’re _sure_ about this? Really sure?” Sadie clenched her jaw and gave him a single, solemn nod.

“Arthur honey, this is all I’ve been doing since the gang split up. I _know_ what I’m talking about.” He trusted his longtime friend; she’d have no reason to lie to him about this.

Albert leaned back on the couch and ran a hand through his hair. Sounding concerned, he realized, “So then it’s personal. Milton is doing this for just himself, he has to be.”

“Which means he doesn’t really care if y’all live or die,” Sadie pointed out.

Albert picked up right where she left off. “That’s why Charles was given his offer. I was right, Milton just wants everyone to turn on each other!”

Arthur recalled that moment back during the meeting in Thieves’ Landing when Albert first suggested that this “offer” was likely available to all of them. The silent looks of distrust across the table, the momentary lapse in judgement when he himself pondered turning on his own brothers and friends for a chance at his own freedom. There was no salvation in Milton’s offer he could see now. Which made John’s fall-back plan seem dangerously pointless.

“John said he was gonna turn himself in at the end of the two months if we couldn’t figure something out,” Arthur said. Sadie recoiled in surprise, then resumed her cool demeanor.

“He’s as good as dead if he does that. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Milton wouldn’t just kill him himself and never speak a word to the law.” Arthur was inclined to agree, but Albert managed to get the next word in.

“Why would Milton be holding a grudge though? Why go through all this, what did you do to him?”

Sadie leaned back and crossed a leg over the other. She exchanged a hesitant look with Arthur, but spoke anyway. “Well between just me and Arthur alone, we killed a bunch of his men that day outside the bank. Then there was that night just outside of town here when they tried roundin’ us up... Let’s just say there’s plenty of bad blood, Al.”

Arthur felt like his chest was tightening. “I gotta find the others... I gotta stop John.” He went to stand up, but Albert grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back down onto the couch.

“What about these clues we’ve been working on?,” Albert asked. Arthur found himself getting flustered.

“Al, we got no clue where to go next! But stopping John is something we can actually _do.”_

Sadie jumped back in with, “I gotta admit, you kinda lost me when you started talkin’ about this serial killer; what does _that_ have to do with anything?” Albert turned back to her to try and explain.

“Milton is using the money from those families for this whole operation. If we find the killer and bring him to justice, the families will stop paying Milton, and he’ll struggle to pay his own men.”

“Assumin’ they’re not in on the plan too. Who knows, they may be just as pissed at us as Milton is...,” Arthur said dejectedly. Albert wheeled back around on him.

“We have to try!”

“We don’t even know what the hell we’re lookin’ for! These pieces of paper ain’t telling us _shit!”_ They weren’t full-on shouting, but their voices were elevated and it would be evident to any eavesdroppers that it wasn’t a jovial topic. Albert let out a deep, frustrated sigh and the two men bristled silently next to each other. Sadie took the moment to nonchalantly take a swig from her room-temperature beer and frown at it before speaking softly.

“You’re looking for a feller who’s cuttin’ folk’s heads off in the woods? ...I saw something like that.”

Arthur met her serious eyes. “Where?” She took another sip from her bottle.

“Few days back, up in the Grizzlies, maybe half a day’s ride from here? When I was tracking my ‘friend’ that I brought in today I saw something like that. Knew it wasn’t my guy though and I didn’t wanna lose his trail, so I didn’t stick around long…” Her eyes were distant for a moment. “Didn’t much care for what I saw though.”

Albert clasped his hands together and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Can you tell us where it was?” She shook her head.

“No, but I can show you. If there’s a sick bastard runnin’ around out there doing _that_ to other people, I’m not gonna let you go after him alone.”

Albert attempted to assuage her concerns. “We found two other… _scenes_ already and were fine. Whoever is responsible for these killings isn’t staying behind with them.”

Unconvinced, “No, I still don’t wanna leave you two to face that kind of evil alone. And what else am I gonna do?”

“You can find John.” Both of them turned to face Arthur. “We’ll try to find this last clue and in the meantime you can stop that dumbass from turning himself in to Milton.”

“What makes you think he’ll listen to _me?,”_ she asked.

“Nothing, but I think you can scare him into at least thinkin’ about it before he does it. Right now he’s just out there with Charles, and you know he won’t be as firm with John as you’d be.”

“I do like scaring that man…,” Sadie admitted with only the faintest hint of amusement in her voice.

“Please, Sadie. It would mean a lot to me.”

After silently bouncing back and forth between Arthur and Albert’s desperate eyes for several seconds, she relented and took a deep sigh. She uncrossed her legs, leaned forward, and placed the bottle down on the table before them harder than necessary, no doubt a signal of her displeasure.

“Y’all got a map I can mark up?”

* * *

_9/20/04_

_Ran into Sadie yesterday in Valentine. Wish we could’ve chatted longer and about something nicer, but at least she promised to stop John from doing something stupid. Also her tip paid off. I’m starting to doubt Milton was even looking for this guy, otherwise he’d be behind bars already. Or maybe I’m just that good. Maybe I should’ve been a detective._

_Think we’re headed south again tomorrow by the Downes’ Ranch. I am more than ready to put this wild goose chase behind us._

_[Sketch of Albert sitting cross-legged at a campfire with a tent behind him.]_

* * *

The hot stench that assaulted the two men after Arthur put in the combination and opened the cellar doors was nothing short of horrendous. With the mid-morning sun at their backs, it was hard to see more than a few feet into the darkness that quickly took hold at the bottom of the steps down underneath what appeared to be a destroyed house.

“Absolutely not.”

Albert went so far as to stand in front of Arthur to physically block him with his entire body.

“Abso- _lutely_ not. Do not even _think_ about going down there,” he demanded with frantic eyes.

“Wasn’t this your plan in the first place? To follow these clues here?” Arthur tried leaning sideways to look past Albert, but he also twisted to block the view of the cellar.

“Yes, but now that we found it, we don’t need to stay here, we need to go get the sheriff and some backup!”

“What if someone’s trapped down there and needs help?” Albert made a face as if he were considering the grim and not-improbable scenario. He turned to face the open cellar and called down into it.

“Hello?! Is anyone down there?”

Nothing.

As Albert called out a second time Arthur took the brief lull to remove the small gas lantern he had in Ivy’s saddlebag and tentatively lit it with a match. As he walked back over, Albert had a visceral reaction to seeing the lantern.

“Arthur, _please._ Don’t make me beg you. There’s no one down there,” he pleaded. He seemed to be seconds away from pulling his hair out in hysterics. Arthur didn’t like it much himself, but they came this far; he couldn’t _not_ go down and at least check the place out.

“You don’t know that. They could be unconscious, or gagged. And if there’s no one down there, then there’s no danger, right?”

“I just… I have a very, _very_ bad feeling about this.” So did Arthur, but he kept that to himself. Instead, he put on a brave face.

“I think you’re worryin’ too much. I mean if the guy was down there, why would he lock himself in? How would he get out?”

“Maybe there’s another entrance. Maybe-“ His words were cut off by the weight of Arthur’s hand on his good shoulder.

“Al, look at me. Hey- _breathe.”_ Albert complied after fussing for a moment, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes before Arthur continued. “I’ll be quick, and you’ll be right here, you’ll hear me call out to you if I need you. Okay?”

Albert opened his eyes, still obviously hating everything about the situation, but at least he could focus now. He took out his pocket watch and glanced at it before meeting Arthur’s eyes again. “I’m giving you _ten minutes_ before I come down after you.”

“I won’t need that long, love, I promise.” He came in for a quick, chaste kiss, then began descending down the wooden staircase, leaving an anxious Albert behind at the surface.

The smell was worse in the cellar, as expected, and it made him long for the days when he regularly wore a bandana; one would’ve been handy in that moment. Even with the weak lantern held high, his eyes needed time adjusting to the sudden darkness in the cellar. To his right at the bottom of the stairs, he was immediately greeted with a collection of bleached human skulls on display, and at his feet below that was a trail of blood leading further into the cellar along with some nondescript chunks of flesh.

Nearly every hair on his body was standing up and he could feel the goosebumps under his clothes from head to toe. His instincts were screaming to run back topside, but he had spent a lifetime learning to ignore those impulses. Once more, and hopefully not for the last time, he willed his feet to step forward into probable danger.

The scene did not improve further into the darkness. He noted that there were some lit candles down here which were suspect, but after a full minute of waiting his eyes and ears couldn’t pinpoint any movement or action at all that would betray someone in hiding. Albert’s announcement a few minutes earlier ruined any element of surprise he may have had however. Approaching a small wooden table on his right, he found two letters that were left out, as if on display, meticulously avoiding a disturbing pool of not-yet dried blood in the middle. One sheet of paper seemed to be a draft letter to a newspaper editor talking about a string of murders and the other was a hand-written letter of some sort from a mother? Arthur was having trouble focusing on them between not wanting to be surprised, not wanting to take longer than he needed to and just not wanting to be there at all.

Pocketing the letters and glancing at the missing persons posters hanging on the walls, he turned and saw a small mattress on the ground opposite the table. The sheets seemed clean enough to have been recently used, but he was reluctant to reach down and feel for any lingering body heat. Instead he let his eyes follow the trail of blood on the stone floor that wrapped around another structural wall, further into the cellar.

It took over a full minute of standing perfectly still and straining his senses for any sign of threats before he could find the courage to move forward.

He was thankful that he brought the lantern with him because he was able to avoid the primed bear trap on the floor he otherwise would’ve stepped on. But the relief was short-lived as he properly rounded the corner. The source of the foul odor was immediately evident as his eyes registered what they were seeing. Had Arthur not already been a person who had seen so much death in his life, he likely would have fainted on the spot, but he still had to fight back the urge to shout. A body, or what was left of it, was suspended against a wall with hooks with chunks of it carved out. Various other parts and bits and pieces from at least a dozen other unfortunate souls were placed haphazardly among ropes and hammers and blades and all other manner of everyday tools that were suddenly horrifying in this context.

_At least this won’t be a rescue mission._

Arthur knew he was reaching the end of his allotted ten minutes, and he definitely didn’t want Albert to see any of this underground nightmare. But he had to leave with _something._ Obviously this was just a gruesome “workshop” of sorts; whoever was responsible for this likely didn’t spend all of his time here, which meant they only came by every so often. He didn’t want to think about how frequently someone met their terrifying end in this very space. Instead, he tentatively stepped forward towards the most recent victim to try and inspect it for any hint at all, not really even knowing what he was looking for.

The quick shuffling of feet behind him and blow to the back of the skull caught him by surprise, to say the least.

* * *

_10:49 AM_

It had been about the fiftieth time - he stopped keeping count - that Albert glanced down at his pocket watch before snapping it shut again. Only eight minutes had passed however.

_He’s fine. He said he’d call out if he needed me._

He shifted his weight from one foot to another again and looked back towards the roads for the hundredth time. The horses were peacefully grazing the underbrush that surrounded the small area, but their calm demeanors did little to relax Albert. He looked down at the watch again.

_10:49 AM_

_I’m going down there._

He didn’t have a lantern of his own - _I should buy one next time we’re in town_ \- so he had to face the darkness alone and hope for the best. He’d only taken three steps down and was about to call out when he heard a voice he didn’t recognize.

* * *

When Arthur opened his eyes again they had readjusted to the darkness. Flat on his back and still smelling that pungent stench, he pieced together that he was still in the cellar. What was different was the lack of light from his lantern and the figure standing at his feet that sounded like they were speaking to him, but he missed the first few words as he struggled to focus on what was happening.

“...Maybe it is a nasty surprise, even though you knew I was going to be here. Which is it?”

The owner of the voice re-lit Arthur’s gas lantern and set it on the ground at his feet. He was younger than Arthur, sporting a neatly-trimmed moustache and formal clothing. As he continued speaking he slowly reached behind him and pulled out a large knife, but Arthur’s head was still spinning from the initial blow.

“You should think about that. Save yourself thinking about what’s about to happen.” The man ran a finger over the sharp edge of the knife pensively before flicking his eyes back up to Arthur, who still hadn’t moved. “Now, I’m not going to lie, it’s not going to be nice… and fun… I mean, it _will_ be fun for me, but it won’t be nice for you.”

_Click_

“Back away from him.”

Arthur blinked hard and willed himself to be present in the moment. He couldn’t see Albert fully, but he could see his hand holding a beautiful-looking Volcanic pistol, hammer primed back and leveled at this stranger’s head. Said stranger carefully dared to look to his right at Albert.

“Brought a friend, did you? That was smart. Smarter than most-“

“Stop talking!,” Albert interrupted. The stranger flinched and stepped away, upturning his hands in a surrendering gesture, but not letting go of the knife.

“Now now, let’s not do anything hasty.” He continued to backpedal and Albert followed after with careful deliberate steps. He didn’t see the bear trap he was about to step onto.

Arthur frantically reached out on the floor around him, searching for anything he could throw. His right hand settled on something cold, soft and wet to the touch and he really did not want to think about what it could be. Grabbing a firm hold of whatever it was, he launched it forward at the stranger as hard as he could manage, using the momentum from his rotating arm to roll forwards and onto his feet.

He managed to nail the stranger in the side of the head with… what unfortunately turned out to be another head. Before the man could react to the new threat at his flank, Arthur was on him. He grabbed the man’s knife-wielding hand by the wrist and smashed the killer’s head into the stone wall two, three, four times for good measure. Albert was watching this wide-eyed, gun still at the ready, but thankfully did not fire.

With a huff the stranger fell to the ground, face landing right next to the bear trap, and Arthur quickly drove a knee into the man’s back, between the shoulder blades. He leaned his full weight into his new hostage and managed to wrestle both arms back and brush the knife out of reach for good measure.

“Al, go get some rope!” 

He didn’t need to be told twice. Without a word, Albert turned on his heels and sprinted out of the cellar. While he ran back to the horses to procure the rope, Arthur was left alone with a man who just moments earlier was about to murder him. He glanced to the left at the last victim, still hanging from the wall, and cursed himself for not pointing out the ropes that were right there to Albert.

“Tell me,” a dazed and weak voice began beneath him, “Have you ever taken a life before?” Arthur looked down and the sick bastard was actually _smiling,_ even with half his face pressed into the dirt and old blood.

“Course I have.” Looking back at the ‘display’ to the left, “Ain’t never looked like _this_ though.”

“Then you of all people should understand why I do what I do.” Indulging this psycho with a conversation didn’t seem the wisest idea, but Arthur’s curiosity was piqued nonetheless.

“What, these folk wronged you or something? Was it over money?” Arthur has been stiffed out of money before, but he’d never been mad enough to do something like _that._ The man under him let out an unnerving laugh.

“No, it’s much simpler than that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I kill because I _must._ Because they _let_ me lure them into my traps. If they didn’t want to die, they shouldn’t have let me kill them.”

 _Oh he’s_ crazy _crazy._

Realizing that he was pinning down just about the most dangerous individual he’d ever met in his life, Arthur decided he didn’t want to have this discussion anymore. One last swift punch to the side of the head was sufficient to knock the stranger out.

* * *

The ride back to the sheriff’s office was swift and silent. If the increased pace was hurting Albert’s shoulder, he kept it to himself.

With a sturdy kick to open the door, Arthur made his grand entrance with the stranger hoisted over his shoulder. “Found that feller you been lookin’ for.”

The sheriff was already on his feet and leaning forward across his desk to see what the new commotion was about. “Which feller? Put him on the floor and let’s take a look at him.”

Arthur unceremoniously dropped his hostage onto the ground, and the man began blinking his stunned eyes, coming back to consciousness. “Feller’s been… been… well, it ain’t nothing nice.”

Thankfully Albert stepped in to help the confused lawman. “We believe this man has been responsible for several grotesque murders across three states.”

“And what makes you think that?”

“All of the dismembered body parts in the cellar we just found him in, sir.”

“Ah.”

Arthur bent down and undid only the ropes around the man’s feet so he could pull him upright and force him to walk. “This sick son of a bitch, well he ain’t right in the head. Send some of your boys over to that cellar of that broke down shack on the road to the falls. See for yourself.”

The sheriff approached the man and stared into his eyes for a few moments before walking over to the holding cells and pulling a key out of his pocket. “I’ll get right on that. Let’s get him in a cell for now though.” For the first time since they were back in the cellar, the man spoke up.

“My name is Edmund. Edmund Lowry Jr. And you’ll remember that, my friends.” He sounded distant, and strangely calm, not at all like someone who was about to be locked behind bars. Arthur placed a hand on Edmund’s back to steer him towards the sheriff who looked back uncomfortably.

“I’m sure I shall… My, you are a frightening feller.”

“Oh, I’ll behave, sir… I’ll behave as expected.” The sheriff turned back to work on the lock with the key he was holding.

“You better. And I’ll get you a lawyer, don’t you worry about-“

Edmund lunged.

Not towards the sheriff, and not back at Arthur, but towards the open front door. The only thing that stood in his way from making a clean escape was Albert, who found himself the sudden victim of a reckless attack. Arthur reached forward, but Edmund had already bowled Albert over, pinning him to the ground and making unnatural and feral gnashing sounds.

“HELP!”

Arthur exhaled.

Everything, _everything,_ slowed down, impossibly slow. And with the normal passage of time abandoning reality, most of the color in the room went with it. With pupils blown wide enough to turn his eyes black and more adrenaline than blood pumping through his veins, Arthur could sense everything in the room. The slow ticks of the clock on the wall to his right. The individual pins tumbling in the lock behind him. The desperate cry trying to escape Albert’s throat that sounded more like a deep rumble now. And the wet clicking and gnashing of human teeth trying to find human flesh.

With practiced ease, Arthur removed his Volcanic from its perpetual home at his right hip and primed the hammer back in a single motion. He imagined a scarlet marker at the back of Edmund’s skull, blotting out his head entirely. When his elbow and wrist were aligned at just the right angle he squeezed the trigger, not knowing how he knew it would find his mark.

_BANG_

Arthur inhaled.

With the rush back to reality came the usual brief but painfully intense headache that always accompanied that trick Dutch taught him; it was the very reason he tried to avoid using it too frequently. As he blinked the pain away he caught sight of Albert just as he pushed Edmund’s now limp body off of him and to the side.

“My god…,” the sheriff muttered behind him. Arthur paid him no mind and knelt forward to inspect Albert.

“Al, you okay?!” The other man had some fresh cuts and spit and sprayed blood flecked on his face and was visibly shaken by the encounter, but it seemed he was able to stave off most of the attack. He wordlessly nodded and let Arthur raise him to his feet.

“That was some fast shooting, friend,” the sheriff commented as he walked over and kicked Edmund’s shoe. Apparently the fresh hole in his forehead wasn’t enough to convince him that the man was dead.

“I’ve had a lot of practice…,” Arthur grumbled.

“After seeing that I don’t doubt it. Here, sir.” The sheriff rounded back to his side of the desk and pulled out a fresh handkerchief that he offered to a grateful Albert to dab his face.

“Thank you.”

“Also, here’s the bounty he was worth. Saved my boys the trouble of dealing with that maniac...” From a separate drawer he set a small money clip on the desk’s surface which Arthur quickly pocketed.

“‘Preciate it. Don’t forget about that shack I told you about though.”

“Of course, once my deputies come back we’ll head out this evening. After we deal with _that,”_ he said, jutting his chin out towards the fresh corpse on the floor. Letting his eyes linger on the sight, “My, there are some violent people in this world…”

Albert wiped his face clean of the surface-level filth, but they’d have to do something about the deeper scrapes when they got back to the hotel room. He turned to the sheriff and asked, “This may seem an odd question, but do you think this will be publicized in the newspaper?” The sheriff scoffed.

“You kiddin' me? Of course; the press is gonna eat this up. I bet you I’ll have a dozen reporters on my front step this time tomorrow. Why, you want your name in the story?”

“Quite the opposite, actually. Frankly I want to put this whole episode behind me and I believe my friend here does as well.” Arthur nodded, knowing why Albert was asking. “I just think it’s important that the families of his victims know that at least some form of justice has been meted out.”

“I don’t know that I’d call _that_ ‘justice,’ but I get your point; I’ll just say it was two anonymous bounty hunters that brought him in.”

“Thank you.” Quickly glancing over to Arthur with raised eyebrows, then back to the sheriff, “Well, I think we should be on our way.” Albert politely tried to return the handkerchief, but the sheriff winced at it and raised an open hand at Albert in refusal.

“You can keep that one.”

* * *

_9/21/04_

_I may not have always been a good man. And I may have done some bad things in my life. Lord knows I have._

_But at least I was never_ _evil_ _. Not like what I saw today. _

* * *

Some of the warm bath water gently sloshed over the lip and onto the floor as Albert readjusted himself to shove his other foot in Arthur’s face. Dutifully, he began massaging the new foot presented to him and looked across the surface of the water at his husband. Albert had his head leaning back and eyes closed, but his brows were still drawn together in discomfort. They’d cleaned up the cut on his cheek as best they could with cold water, but Arthur wasn’t going to fight him on this bath he requested; they both deserved it after the day they had.

In a way, Arthur felt guilty in moments like these, when they were being selfish and pretending like everything was fine. John was barely holding it together out in the woods, Abigail _had_ to be an emotional wreck from going on almost a month since her son was torn from her, and this was all to say nothing of how Jack, a literal child, was handling things. When he voiced these thoughts to Albert, the photographer admitted to feeling the same way, but pointed out that denying themselves these moments of intimacy didn’t help anyone and would only serve to heighten their own stress. So they agreed to take them when they could find them, while they still could. Although it didn’t seem like Albert was de-stressing at all in the current moment.

“I mean if it’s that bad, I can stop,” Arthur joked, referencing Albert’s strained expression.

Without opening his eyes, “Don’t you dare.” Arthur chuckled, but Albert continued, “No, it’s just my shoulder; I landed on it in a bad way when… when he pushed me over.” Only for a moment Arthur let his regret creep into his voice.

“Sorry ‘bout that, I shoulda held onto him tighter... Tell you what, if he ever comes back to life somehow, I’ll kick his ass for you.”

Albert smirked. “Like what happened with Micah?”

“Don’t even _joke_ about that…”

“I know, I shouldn’t be joking.” He summoned his hands up from the depths of the water and drove his palms into his eyes. “I don’t want to think about either of those two horrible men right now.”

Arthur drove his thumbs into the arch of the foot he was holding and was rewarded with Albert’s involuntary sighs of relief. “Well what do you wanna do tomorrow?”

Albert finally removed his hands from his face and looked at him. Arthur always thought it was funny how the other man’s beard looked when it was soaked in water like this, grays and all. “Let’s take a train back to the city, I think we’ve earned it.”

“What, you’re tired of ‘ridin’ Morgans?’,” he quipped. Albert rolled his eyes.

“Tired of your bad jokes more like it...,” he grumbled.

“It was your joke first. And Ivy don’t really like being stuffed in those livestock cars.”

“Sounds like your problem, not mine.” Arthur huffed and shook his head at that, but didn’t have anything else to add. They were silent for a stretch of time when Albert continued, “How much was that bounty worth today?”

“A whole twenty-two bucks,” Arthur said mockingly.

“Hey, that’s twenty-two bucks we didn’t have yesterday,” Albert pointed out.

“Yeah, but that’s nothing compared to the mountain of cash you’re sittin’ on.”

Albert shrugged, “‘Mountain’ is a strong word. I’m just saying, every little bit helps. And if you don’t want it, I’ll gladly take it off your hands.”

Arthur’s next verbal riposte died at the back of his throat as a knock came at the door behind him. They both froze and looked at each other.

A muffled woman’s voice came through with, “Mister Mason? How’re you doing in there?”

“Fine! Just fine!,” he called out. Even through a solid wooden door one would be able to hear the tremble in his voice.

“Is someone in there with you? Thought I heard you talking.”

“No, I was just… practicing a speech.” Arthur smirked at that and Albert mouthed back a silent _“I don’t know?,”_ with a nervous shrug.

“Well I could come in and listen, keep you _good_ company…,” she flirted. The door handle rattled but it was locked and there was a chair propped up against it for good measure anyway.

_Come in and earn a nice tip, more like it._

“That’s quite alright, thank you _so_ much though!”

“You sure?”

“I am sure, thank you!”

The woman on the other side of the door slinked away, rejected, and the two men exchanged grins and let themselves relax in silence. After a minute or two Arthur finally let go of Albert’s foot and draped his arms over his side of the tub, letting his own head lean back when he felt the first foot pressed onto his chest again. He looked down and drew his brows together.

“I already did this one,” he protested in a whisper. He tried shoving it away, but Albert put it right back.

“You didn’t hit the heel hard enough, do it again. And keep quiet,” he shot back as he settled in to get comfortable again.

Arthur did work the foot again, but he made a show of rolling his eyes first and pouting the whole time. Albert intentionally didn’t notice.

* * *

Ivy was tossing her head in a fit as Arthur tried to brush her mane down the following morning. She wasn’t a dumb horse; she knew there was only one possible reason why they were lingering by the train station for so long and judging by her attitude this overcast and windy morning she wasn’t going to go into that car without a fight. Arthur felt bad for her; what with Albert’s injured shoulder forcing them to travel slower for almost a month now she hadn’t had a chance to really let loose and sprint like she wanted to, like she was used to.

“Why can’t you be more like your sister?,” Arthur grumbled at the agitated animal. Behind him, Penny was calm as always with the sort of resigned ease of having seen it all that the older horse always seemed to possess. On the opposite side of _her,_ Albert was still fidgeting about in his saddlebags. They probably had ample time before the next train arrived, but the sooner they got their tickets, the sooner they’d have some peace of mind. Arthur twisted around to look back at him and caught Albert looking nervously at the building and remembered.

_Last time he was here Micah kidnapped him._

Arthur tucked away the brush, wasn’t like Ivy was cooperating anyway, and turned back to face his partner. “Mind if I come in with you?” No doubt Albert understood why he’d offered, but he smiled politely all the same.

“Not at all.”

Horses hitched securely, the two men took the ramp to the main door, which Arthur held open for Albert. There were some locals getting mail inside, and maybe three or four other travelers waiting for the next train judging by their luggage, but no immediate threats. Still, Arthur lingered nearby as Albert approached one of the gated counters.

“Can I help you, sir?,” the clerk asked.

“Yes, I need two one-way tickets to Saint Denis and two horse vouchers as well, same destination.”

“Of course.”

“Oh, and I need to mail a letter to New York while I have you.” Albert reached into a pocket lining the inside of his vest and removed the envelope Arthur caught him sealing late last night.

“Certainly, give me just a moment.”

The clerk busied himself behind the counter and Albert drummed his fingers on it as he waited. Arthur was looking out the window at an approaching herd of sheep being driven into town, for an upcoming livestock auction no doubt, when the clerk cleared his throat and spoke up to get his attention.

“Sir. I believe… I believe I have a letter for _you.”_ Arthur turned left towards the timid man and Albert stepped aside, confused. Once he got a good look at the clerk through the bars however, he immediately recognized the clerk as Lester Henderson.

_The son of a bitch who tipped off Milton._

“You sure it’s for me? You don’t even know my name.” A benign statement, but laced with a reminder of an old threat underneath. Lester understood and played along, still intimidated even behind the relative safety of the metal bars.

“That’s correct, I don’t, but… I just made an assumption is all. Here.” He pulled open a side drawer out of sight and placed a clean envelope that simply read _Arthur Morgan_ in cursive. He quickly stepped back afterwards and kept his arms at his sides, as if he was afraid the envelope would lash out at someone.

Arthur stared at the envelope on the counter and no one moved or spoke for several seconds. He didn’t even want to _touch_ it. He knew exactly what it was.

Fortunately, Albert swiped the envelope off the counter for him. “Thank you. Now about those tickets?”

“My apologies.” Lester quickly completed the transaction and even took Albert’s letter to his mother in short order. He didn’t so much as look at Arthur for the rest of the exchange, who feigned interest at nothing in particular out the window again. They exited shortly thereafter and lingered by the benches that lined the exterior of the building.

Quietly, “I can just throw it away.”

“No. No, let me see it. Just to make sure.” Albert handed over the envelope and Arthur stared at it for a few moments before opening it and unfolding the letter.

_8/24/1904_

_Dear Mr. Morgan,_

_It is commonly known that the infamous Van de Linde gang, of which you were a member of, disbanded in the summer of 1899 when your leader died. However there are many crimes committed by various surviving members of the gang that have to date gone unpunished. I am offering you an opportunity to cooperate with my agency, and in return I can offer you clemency and potentially even an expunged criminal record depending on your performance._

_I ask that you apprehend the following five members and deliver them directly to my custody: Marion ‘Bill’ Williamson, Javier Escuela, Charles Smith, Micah Bell, and John Marston. I have retained a powerful new client who is bankrolling this new operation to seek out the remnants of your gang, but I believe we can help each other. Please respond to the address below and we will coordinate a time and date for the exchanges of the above-mentioned names._

_Sincerely, Agent Andrew Milton_ _  
_ _204 Decatur Street_ _  
_ _Saint Denis, LM 70130_

 _Pinkerton National Detective Agency  
_ _“We Never Sleep”_

Out of habit, Arthur re-read through the letter a second time, then wordlessly passed it over to Albert before he could ask. The photographer skimmed through the letter that was nearly identical to the one addressed to Charles that he had read aloud during the meeting in Thieves’ Landing. He hummed, sounding wholly unsurprised.

“I see.”

Albert ripped the letter in half.

“Al, what’re you doing?!”

Not stopping, he tore it into fourths, then eighths, then shredded the ribbons of paper sideways and let the remnants fall to the ground to be gently blown away in the wind. There was an unusual determination set in his eyes when he looked back up to Arthur.

“I’m not even going to let you entertain the thought. You promised John and the others that you’d find another way, and I’m going to make sure you stick to that promise.”

Arthur couldn’t explain the small swell of affection he felt in his chest, but he felt it all the same. He cleared his throat and deflected it away with humor, as usual.

“You always were stubborn like that.”

Taking the ramp back down towards the horses, Albert didn’t miss a beat. “Learned it from you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I changed the location of the last clue from outside Strawberry to somewhere in Ambarino. We can have a little canon divergence. As a treat.
> 
> This was also the first time in a long while that I straight-up lifted canon dialogue verbatim and it felt strange doing so; like I was cheating or being lazy. But, I like to imagine that I put enough of my own spin on it so that it still came across as engaging and entertaining and not a chore. Also I’m not trying to make equate mental illness to being evil but like, we all saw what Edmund Lowry was doing to people, right?
> 
> Finally, no one asked, but I still maintain that the best written description of DeadEye that I’ve ever read was in Chapter One of platonicharmonic’s “The Matthews Family.” If you’re not reading that already, consider that your homework.


	14. Saved Yours, Save Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old friend unintentionally serves as a distraction before Charles gives some bad news. The following morning, the situation gets even more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s a doozy, the longest chapter yet, but I really didn’t want to break it in half. To me this chapter is the equivalent of reaching the very top of a rollercoaster’s initial climb, right before the first drop. 
> 
> This chapter picks up later in the evening of the same day we left off. If you’re interested, September 22, 1904 was a Thursday.
> 
> _UPDATE- This chapter was updated for minor edits on 11/26/2020_

_9/22/04_

_[Sketch of Albert asleep, leaning against a window inside of a train, hat tilted askew.]_

* * *

"So, where are we heading?” It was a good question.

The train they had just disembarked roared behind them, already leaving for its next destination. Nothing ever stood still for long in Saint Denis, except for the buildings themselves, but even then there were new ones going up every time they came back it seemed. The gas lanterns on every street threatened to turn on at any moment as the overcast day that never really cleared up slipped into evening.

While thinking of a response, Arthur leant forward in his saddle and patted Ivy’s neck, and she flicked her head in irritation in response. Word among the crew was that she’d been a nuisance in that livestock car all the way down and he was forced to tip the poor train worker that almost had half of his face bitten off by her.

“Not sure. Guess I shoulda planned this better,” he admitted. Albert was riding Penny to his left, but they weren’t exactly in a rush to anywhere in particular. They were meant to meet with John and Charles _somewhere_ in the city tonight, but it was left painfully vague during their last meeting. Arthur wasn’t even sure if those two had been back to the city since the bank robbery; they definitely weren’t as familiar with it as Arthur had become.

“Well let’s get a place to stay for the night first, then we can go out looking for them,” Albert suggested.

“Sounds good to me. Wouldn’t mind stopping to grab a bite to eat first though.”

“What were you thinking?”

Arthur looked down towards the docks and had to spur Ivy out of the way of an angry tram driver. “We can just swing by the general store, grab somethin’ simple.”

“We have a whole city full of restaurants to choose from and you want to eat _canned beans_ again?,” Albert deadpanned.

“Alright, fine, what do you want? Wanna go to the Bastille?”

With a dismissive hand wave, “So everyone can stare at us? No thank you.”

“Well we ain’t goin’ to Doyle’s,” Arthur stated; the drinks he would allow, but what passed for ‘food’ in that place was nightmare-inducing. “What about Jade Dragon?”

Shaking his head, “My stomach got upset last time we ate there.”

“O’Toole’s?”

“I don’t like anything on their menu.”

“What about that place by the Licorne?”

“Ridiculously overpriced.”

“Two Sisters?”

“I’m always still hungry afterwards.”

“Well _damn,_ what the hell do you want then?!,” Arthur shouted louder than he meant to. Some passerby flicked their eyes in their direction, but then went about their business; evidently public emotional outbursts were par for the course in city living.

Albert paused, tilted his head to the side in thought and responded without a hint of irony, “I don’t know, whatever you’re in the mood for.” He kept his eyes trained forward and didn’t notice the death stare Arthur was giving him.

_I’m about to shoot this man._

They fell quiet for a bit, aimlessly trotting around the city, hoping to see something that caught their eye - and Albert’s approval. Soon enough they were caught behind an ornate stagecoach that was taking up the full width of the narrow side street they’d turned off of and couldn’t get around it. Initially Arthur was simply frustrated and was about to start slinging pejoratives at the driver, but the coach came to a stop in front of a building that read “Hotel Grand,” and old instincts flared up.

_Is this an ambush?_

He didn’t even realize his hand was already resting on his Volcanic, but his fears were soon proven to be unfounded. No one was behind them or at their flanks, and it was just a routine drop-off it seemed, but the woman was taking her sweet time getting out of the carriage with an extended goodbye.

“Of course, I did too! Oh that is too funny. Well feel better and I’ll see you tomorrow, get home safe, Eleanor.”

The two men behind the stagecoach quickly looked at each other when they realized they recognized that voice.

Mary Linton finally stepped out of the side door and gave a final wave to her friend still inside before making her way towards the front entrance of the hotel without so much as glancing at her surroundings. She hadn’t noticed them. The driver whipped the stagecoach in front of them back into motion, but they didn’t move.

_Should probably leave her alone, she won’t wanna hear about-_

“Mary!” Arthur closed his eyes and sighed at Albert’s shout, but only for a moment before forcing a smile to match her genuine one.

Removing her hand from the door and walking up to Albert who was already dismounting, “Albert! What a lovely surprise! Did you get my letter?”

“That I did, Miss Linton, that I did.” Once within range, she gladly threw her arms around her old friend, but she didn’t notice the arm sling until Albert audibly winced at the embrace.

“Oh, is something wrong?” Albert needed a moment for the pain to subside and inhaled deeply through his nose before attempting a response.

“I uh-,” quickly glancing back at Arthur for guidance, “I hurt my shoulder recently. It’s no big deal.”

Mary rested a delicate hand on Albert’s good shoulder, a small gesture of an apology. “I am such a klutz, I’m sorry, Albert.”

“It’s quite alright,” he reassured. Mary turned to Arthur with a raised eyebrow and sized him up and down, but he just held his arms wide to receive her.

“Where’s mine?”

“Just making sure there are no more injuries I should know about,” she smiled back before hugging Arthur.

“Nah, you know me, even if I got hurt, I wouldn’t tell you.” Unfortunately, they both knew from experience that Arthur was capable of keeping a great deal hidden from Mary, but neither wanted to think back on those memories from long, long ago.

“Well what are you two doing out here?,” she asked as she stepped away. Albert got his answer out before Arthur could try to think of an excuse to leave Mary.

“We were trying to decide on a place to grab dinner.” Unfortunately for this supposed meeting with John and Charles that was looking increasingly unlikely to happen, that seemed to get Mary’s interest.

“Do you mind if I join you? I just got out of a show with Eleanor but she was going to turn in early for the evening; she wasn’t feeling well.”

“Not at all. Do you have any preferences?,” Albert asked.

Mary already had her answer primed and ready to go. “Let’s go to the Bastille, Eleanor always talks that place up and I haven’t been in years. What do you say?”

“That sounds perfect, doesn’t it, Arthur?” They both looked back at him expectantly, Mary wearing a genuine smile, Albert a facetious one.

_Maybe if I shove him in front of a trolley it’ll look like an accident..._

* * *

Albert was correct - “as usual,” he quietly pointed out - in that most of the other patrons in the venue were shooting constant subtle glances at the trio. Though perhaps it would’ve been more accurate to say that they were staring at Arthur, what with all of his visible guns that he didn’t feel comfortable leaving on Ivy’s saddle outside. He’d heard stories of roaming gangs of homeless children pick-pocketing people on the streets then pulling guns on any adults who chased after them; he didn’t like the thought of a teenager running around with his Lancaster repeater, but he also didn’t want to tempt some poor kid to try and steal it from an already agitated animal.

They sat themselves at a small table in the corner by the piano and were helped soon enough by a well-dressed and well-spoken waiter. Even after all the time he’d reluctantly spent in Saint Denis, Arthur still felt a little uneasy about restaurant culture as a whole; he didn’t like not being able to see the food being prepared and there was just a touch more ritual and dance involved for his liking. Mary and Albert however were having a grand old time with the theater of it all.

“Anyways, that’s what Eleanor and I have been doing since I got in.” Mary finally allowed herself a sip of her water; she had been speaking almost the entire time since they left the hotel. “It is good to see her again,” she added after a swallow.

“I don’t doubt it. And it sounds like you've been keeping yourself quite busy,” Albert observed.

“That I have. Oh, look at me talking your ears off. What about you two? I know it hasn’t been all that long since I last saw you, but what have you been up to?”

They casually locked eyes, trying to suss out how much the other was willing to divulge. Since running into Mary, they hadn’t had a moment alone to discuss how to handle the inevitable topic. Arthur tried taking the lead.

“Just been out traveling mostly. Went to Armadillo for a few days for a new project Al’s workin’ on, then just keepin’ out of the house.” Not an outright fabrication.

“Will you be staying in the city long? I’d love to catch another show or walk through the gardens with you boys.” Casual eye contact between the two men conveyed another silent conversation in plain sight.

“We’re not sure, but I’d hate to commit to something before we make up our minds,” Albert explained. Mary seemed let down, but pressed on.

“Well where are you staying for the evening?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” Arthur said. He leaned back in his chair and locked eyes with a proper-looking gentleman a few tables over. Arthur gave him his best mean mug, and to his amusement the man almost fell over himself in fright trying to rapidly look away.

“Why don’t you come back to the Hotel Grand with me?,” Mary suggested. “I believe they still have a few rooms available.”

Satisfied that he put the fear of god in at least one of their silent observers, Arthur let himself return to the conversation at his own table. “Ain’t that the fanciest hotel in the city? It looked expensive the one time I was inside.”

“It is, but you get what you pay for, I assure you,” she said. Then, making a point to lower her voice, “It’s about twenty five dollars a night.” Both men audibly huffed at the sticker shock, but Arthur actually found himself considering it.

“What do you think, Al, we can swing that for a night, no? Let’s treat ourselves for once.” The photographer shot him a pleading look across the table.

“I’d rather not. I don’t doubt that it would be an experience, but I just figured we’d stay at the Hôtel la Licorne as usual.”

“We don’t even know how long we’ll be in town, what’s wrong with spendin’ one night there?,” Arthur asked. Albert hesitated awkwardly.

“I... just think we should be a little smarter with our money is all.” Mary rested a hand on Albert’s and leaned closer to speak softly.

“Albert, I would gladly pay for you two. It really is a lovely hotel.” He reluctantly pulled his hand out from under hers.

“I’m sure it is, but you really don’t need to do that. We’ll find out for ourselves one day, perhaps on another visit.”

“We just made some money yesterday, and I got enough to cover the rest.” Maybe the sooner he could spend that money from Edmund Lowry’s bounty, the sooner Arthur could forget about that whole episode. Unlikely, but he was willing to try. Albert seemed to disagree however.

“And I think we should hang onto that. Again, we don’t know when the next time we’ll be home will be.”

Arthur let his confusion visibly show on his face. “Why don’t you wanna-”

Albert slammed a fist down on the table.

“We’re _not_ going!”

If people weren’t stealing furtive glances before, they certainly were now. 

Arthur stared across the table at him, more confused than intimidated, but Albert’s fierce eyes signaled he wasn’t backing down from this for whatever reason. For the sake of decorum, Arthur slowly nodded and slurred out a gentle, “Sure.” To his right, Mary suddenly found herself intensely interested in the decorative print of her empty plate of China.

Albert tried to drop the dark look from his face with a sip of water, but was unsuccessful. “My apologies, Mary.”

“No, I’m sorry I even suggested it,” she said, wringing her hands under the table. She then muttered, “Boy, you two really are an old married couple, aren’t you?”

Genuine, albeit weak chuckles escaped all of them at that, but the conversation for the rest of the evening was effectively dead.

* * *

Judging by her unusually chaste goodbyes, Mary couldn’t get inside the Hotel Grand fast enough. Arthur couldn’t blame her; he was just happy she got off the streets and inside safely.

Saint Denis did have some charm to it at night when the sidewalks emptied out and the lights came on. It wasn’t smart to linger in any one place too long, and Arthur knew all kinds of trouble came out after dark, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t see the appeal of it. At least the look of it; the smell and the heat hardly abated after the sun fell.

The two men rode back to the Hôtel la Licorne in complete silence once Mary was gone. The tension was almost as thick as the humid night air, and Arthur still didn’t know what to make of what happened. Wordlessly, they dismounted and hitched the girls at their normal posts. Albert went inside to establish lodging, and Arthur had been through this game enough times recently to know they were better served with him waiting outside.

Ivy was still giving him attitude so he opted to amble over to the far side of the building, closest to the city’s cemetery, and lean his back against one of the porch’s supporting columns. There was little foot traffic at this hour and besides swatting at a mosquito that kept landing on the back of his neck - _Ain’t these bloodsuckers supposed to die off by now? It’s almost October._ \- there wasn’t much to keep him entertained while Albert summoned up his dormant French skills inside.

Until something across the street caught his eye.

Opposing the Hôtel la Licorne was a small patch of nature for as long as he could remember. For some reason it was never cleared and developed into something, likely because it was flush to the northern wall of the cemetery and that came with all manner of taboo and superstitions. But there, just out of the closest lamplight’s reach, something large was moving behind the vegetation. It wasn’t until it reared its head up did Arthur recognize it as a horse, hidden off of the main road, and straining his eyes through the palm fronds, he could almost swear he recognized that dappled coat.

A quick glance over his shoulder and through the window told Arthur that Albert was chatting up the clerk for a bit, so he likely had some time. He crossed the dirt road in front of the building and approached the animal and soon confirmed that it was in fact Taima. It didn’t take much longer to find her owner. Charles was sitting on the ground, back against the outer wall of the cemetery with his arms folded. With his head tucked down and slow breathing, it appeared he was actually asleep.

“Charles,” Arthur said. No response. He gently nudged his friend’s foot with his own and immediately found himself staring down the barrel of a sawn-off shotgun of a man startled awake.

Charles blinked. “Arthur.” He shamefully set the weapon back into its holster and rubbed his eyes with both hands.

“Don’t think I’ve ever gotten the jump on you like that the entire time I’ve known you.” He offered a hand to Charles and pulled the man up to his feet.

“I’m just tired is all. Even _I_ sleep sometimes.” Even in the dark he did look uncharacteristically tired. The past few days must have been difficult on him.

“Apparently,” he joked. “How’d you find us?” Charles looked around and saw that Arthur was alone, but likely deduced that Albert was nearby.

“I remember Albert talking about this place a few times before. Figured you’d end up here.”

“We almost didn’t,” he chuckled. Charles didn’t follow.

“Why not? Did something happen? Were you followed?”

“What? No, just, we almost went somewhere else.” The question caught Arthur off-guard.

Were _we followed?_

He glanced down the street for good measure but Charles didn’t let him linger on it for too long. “Well at least I found you after all.”

Turning back and presenting himself with outstretched arms, “Yup, here I am. Hope you haven’t been here too long.”

Charles shrugged and looked downcast. “Just a few hours. I got here much earlier than I expected.”

“Is that a good or a bad thing?” The look Charles gave him told him the answer before he spoke.

“It’s a bad thing. I came alone.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know where John is. He snuck off on me a few nights back while he was on watch.”

Arthur sighed and ran a hand over his face at the news but wasn’t surprised; nothing went easy these days. He was no stranger to his younger brother’s theatrics, but he had to make sure. “You think something happened to him?”

Shaking his head, “No, I think he left on his own. Arthur, he’s not taking this well.”

“What happened?” Charles began pacing, but they stayed behind the plant cover, away from the street.

“We went up to Van Horn first, but that ended up being a waste of time. We thought we had two leads in Annesburg, but they ended up being different young boys, not Jack. He kinda broke down after that and the next morning he was gone. He didn’t leave anything behind, there was only one set of tracks; he wasn’t kidnapped.” Arthur nodded, agreeing with Charles’ deduction.

“Where do you think he’s headed?”

“I think he’s going home to Abigail. To say goodbye. And I think he’s going to turn himself in after that.”

A younger Arthur would’ve punched the concrete wall next to him, but this matured version opted to just throw up his hands in frustration instead. “We still got a whole _month_ though!”

Charles gave him a somber look. “You didn’t see what I saw. He’s _broken,_ Arthur. He can’t go another month like this, not knowing what’s happening to Jack.”

“Sadie said our bounties expired though, and we figured out there’s no client,” Arthur explained. “Milton’s doin’ all this for himself, for revenge. He’s just gonna kill John!”

“Expired?,” Charles asked, dumbfounded as Arthur was when he first learned that was possible. That soon gave way to determination. “I can go after him.”

“Charles, you’re dead on your feet. At least take a rest.”

“I’m fine,” he lied. He brushed past Arthur and began digging around in Taima’s saddlebags for something, but Arthur couldn’t in good conscience let his friend ride out into the night in this current state. He walked over and clapped a strong hand on his shoulder.

 _“Charles._ Just take it easy, alright? For me? I’ll head out with you in the morning.”

He didn’t turn around, but he did stop moving his hands, and really froze altogether for several moments. Finally, he lowered his head and answered softly, “Fine.”

Convinced he was telling the truth, Arthur let go and took a step back. “How is it that Dutch only ever took in the most stubborn people on the planet?” Charles shot a tired grin at him over his shoulder.

“Didn’t he take _you_ in first? Guess he just figured out early on he had a type.”

“‘Scuse me, the most stubborn _wiseasses_ on the planet.” They both chuckled at that. Charles fully turned around and leaned his back against Taima for support.

“Still, I wanted to make sure you hadn’t seen John yourself before I went out looking for him.”

Shaking his head, “Nah, not since the last time I saw _you._ Tell you what, let’s get some rest, I’ll talk with Al and I’ll head out with you tomorrow; we’ll look for this dumbass together.” Charles seemed agreeable to that.

“Sure. There’s a gun shop in Chinatown. Meet me there in the morning? I need to stock up on some ammo.”

Arthur tipped his hat. “I’ll be there. Where’re you headed for the night?”

“I was gonna set up camp outside the city,” he said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the small farms just north of the city.

“You sure? Looks like it’s gonna rain.” Arthur motioned towards the adjacent hotel, “This place ain’t half bad, decent rate for the night too.” Charles raised his eyebrows after a moment.

“You know, I’m just tired enough to consider it. You go on first though, I don’t wanna risk being seen together.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. Watch out though, they only speak French in there.” Charles didn’t seem concerned by that.

“I’ll figure it out with the guy. It’s just booking a room, how hard could it be?”

Arthur held his tongue.

Instead, he opted to just wave a hand at his friend and said, “I’ll catch you in the morning.”

“Good night, Arthur.”

“Night.”

* * *

A bilingual conversation with the French-speaking gentleman working the night shift wherein neither side was willing to concede linguistic ground to the other strained Arthur’s patience to its absolute limit. Fortunately Albert came down from their room on the second floor to collect him before things came to blows at the front desk and the law had to become involved. Arthur refrained from shooting once last glowering look at the Frenchman as he obediently trodded up the stairs after Albert. Entering the room to the right at the top of the landing, he made a mental note that this was the very same room Albert had rented the first time they’d met. It had served as their de facto home for a few months after the Van der Linde gang disbanded five years ago. It was the first place they’d shared tea together, the first place they’d spoken in depth about Albert’s photography and goals, the first place Arthur had slept in past sunrise, the first place… - suffice to say there were many “firsts” that occurred in this very space, or, more crassly, on that very bed.

It was odd seeing the blackout curtains thrown open to the night air, walls missing the rows of strung-up photographs, the complete absence of the usual mess of clothes and books that littered every surface all those years ago. When they had finally bought a house in Tall Trees, cleaning this room out had been an all-day operation. Still, it was the same room, but Arthur wanted to test something to see if _everything_ was as he remembered it.

He flicked the switch by the door and looked up. The fan on the ceiling began its pathetic rotations, but did not reach anything resembling an effective speed. Arthur hung his head and sighed.

Rather uncharacteristically, Albert was silent and hurriedly shucking off his clothes to get into bed, but not in a seductive manner. Arthur was reminded of their second night in Armadillo, after Albert and Bill properly met face-to-face, but he knew since back at the restaurant that something was wrong.

He sat down on his own side of the bed, the one closer to the door, as always, and began removing his boots, keeping his back to Albert. “So am I gonna have to drag this outta you, or can we talk like men?”

“The only thing to talk about is that you clearly don’t respect me.” He struck that level, detached tone he tended to fall back on at the beginning of their arguments. The one that always managed to get a rise out of Arthur.

Twisting his torso to look behind him, “This is _my_ fault? _You’re_ the one who blew up at that table.”

With exasperation, “Because you weren’t _listening_ to me! I said I didn’t want to stay at that hotel and you kept challenging me in front of Mary to embarrass me.”

Arthur tried to calm himself down, and didn’t take the bait. “Weren’t tryin’ to embarrass you, I just thought it’d be a fun treat is all. I thought you’d like that place, even if it was just a night,” he grumbled.

Albert agreed, “I would have, but we need to be smart about our money.”

“Why? We still got a ton of money though.” Boots removed, Arthur began working on his shirt buttons, but turned around again when he noticed Albert had fallen silent. “Right?”

There was a noticeable and concerning pause before Albert spoke again.

“We have plenty of money still, but it won’t always be there. Good practices now will stretch it out longer,” he explained.

Living out in a large wooden shack in the woods was hardly the lap of luxury, but it suited them just fine. They lead a relatively spartan lifestyle, catching most of their food and not traveling by train terribly often. Really their biggest expenses were Albert’s photography equipment, but Arthur had a poor grasp of how expensive they were in the grand scheme of things.

After they finished undressing for the evening, the two of them awkwardly settled in under the sheets, but both sat upright against the headpiece, knowing the conversation wasn’t over just yet. Arthur asked something that had been on the back of his mind for a few years now. “How much money did John give you outta the Blackwater chest?” Albert nervously began cracking his fingers.

“Well if you remember, we went back to Valentine that day to meet up with some of the others as they trickled in over the week.”

“I remember.” _Remember John strugglin’ to even hold onto that chest. Don’t know how Dutch got it up into the rafters by himself._

“Well we recounted it in his room in the hotel just to make sure. It was a little shy of a hundred and fifty thousand if I recall.”

Arthur wasn’t fidgeting with his hands like Albert was, but he still felt strangely nervous. “Right…”

“So the way John and I figured out how to divvy it up among the surviving members, my- or rather _your_ share that you forfeited to me, came out to ten thousand, five hundred dollars.”

A truly staggering amount, made no less impressive by the casual way Albert just threw the value out.

“And how much of that is left?” Judging by the way Albert’s jaw clenched shut at the question, Arthur knew he had struck something, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what.

“I’m not sure.” Albert cast his eyes away and to the floor in that way he did when he was trying to lie.

“Not sure? Al, you’re the most detail-focused man I know, how’re you _not sure?,”_ Arthur questioned.

Defensively, Albert explained, “I haven’t counted it up in a while. Remember, I kept it hidden from you all this time; I didn’t think you’d be interested in the minutiae of financial record keeping.”

Arthur bit back a comment on how Albert tended to use bigger words when he was being evasive about something and instead asked, “So you’re tellin’ me there’s _ten thousand dollars_ hidden up above the kitchen? How come none of that’s ever fallen down? How come you had to search around up there for a bit last time we were home?”

“We don’t have the full amount after buying the house, obviously,” he pointed out.

“Okay, how much was that?”

Knuckles now thoroughly cracked, Albert transitioned to just drumming his fingers across his legs. “Well the house was seized by the state and derelict, so we were able to buy it outright for twenty five hundred.” He hurriedly added, “But we didn’t take a loan like John and Abigail did, so we don’t have to worry about losing the house.” That last comment twisted an unexpected knot in Arthur’s stomach; losing the house, their _home_ over money issues was not something he’d ever even considered a possibility.

“Why would we be worrying about losin’ the house? ...are _you_ worried-“

“No! No, it’s just, we should be wary of big expenses like that in the future,” Albert interrupted. But Arthur wasn’t done letting the matter go.

“Okay, so twenty five hundred went towards the house. Then what?”

“Well it’s been five years, and we always find little things here and there to buy. And neither of us have really been working full time. I mean I understand you find odd jobs out and about and sometimes I can get a decent cut from an exhibition, but that’s maybe, what, once or twice a year?”

“Okay…” Arthur let it hang there, letting Albert to pick it up, which he did after a long pause.

“And last year I… made a donation.”

“How much?”

Albert dodged the question. “It was a one-time donation.”

“Okay-“

He swallowed and continued, “There’s an organization called the Sierra Club-“

“Al...“

“I thoroughly researched and vetted them out before getting into contact with a representative-“

_“Al-“_

“What they do is they buy large tracts of land for conservation purposes to prevent logging companies-“

_“AL!”_

“Five thousand dollars.”

The next ‘Al’ died at the back of Arthur’s throat as he finally got his answer. His mind reeled as if he had been physically struck.

“Fi-...” His jaw dropped. He couldn’t even say it.

“I _know,_ I know it seems like a lot, and it was, but think of all the _good_ that money had gone on to do.” Albert was trying to transition the conversation to damage control, but it wasn’t reaching Arthur’s ears.

“You gave away _half_ of all our money?,” he asked numbly.

“A little under half…,” Albert corrected meekly.

“Why didn’t-“

“Because it’s important to me.” Albert rose from his position and knelt on the bed, facing Arthur and begged for understanding with both verbal and body language. “You _know_ it’s important to me. For all I know that money did far more for advancing conservation efforts than the entirety of my career! Hell, the only _reason_ they invited me to speak at that event in Denver was _because_ I made that donation.”

Arthur’s line of thought was thoroughly derailed at that. “What’re you sayin’? You were already makin’ a name for yourself before that.”

“Hardly anyone outside of small university circles knew who I was,” he dismissed.

“That’s not true,” Arthur contested, but in the back of his mind he was suddenly doubting himself. Was it possible that Albert had been paying people off to get recognized? Had Albert been greasing the palms of just the right people all this time?

“Regardless, it's done now and that money is gone. It seemed a good decision at the time and… I stand by it.” Albert straightened up his posture to deliver the last line, but a sad look in his eyes betrayed his conviction.

Arthur still felt slightly numb from the new information. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Albert let his eyes fall away.

“I didn’t think you’d understand, I thought you would be angry with me.”

“I mean, it’s _your_ money, you can do what you want with it.” Rarely, Arthur would reflect back on that impulsive decision to reject his share of the Blackwater money, but never allowed himself to dwell on it for long. He told himself that his life would probably be mostly the same as it was now.

“But what’s mine is yours, you know that. I wouldn’t have ever even _had_ that money were it not for you. I should’ve told you, but I was too afraid.”

“Afraid of what? That’d I’d yell at you or something? Al, we have fights all the time about stupid shit.” He reached forward and held Albert’s hands, but Albert still shied away from eye contact.

Barely loud enough to be heard, “I was afraid you’d leave me.”

Arthur understood each of those words individually, but strung together in that order they were barely comprehensible to him.

“Why would I leave you?” Albert finally raised his head with a pained expression.

“What else do I have besides that money? _Ooh,_ I can catch fish for dinner a few times a week, big deal. We both know you do most of the work around the house, all of our friends were _your_ friends first, I… I don’t have much to offer you, Arthur, I know that.”

The way the words were flooding out of Albert suggested that these were thoughts he’d been sitting on for a long time. Arthur felt like a fool for not noticing sooner these latent concerns in the person he knew best.

Very deliberately, and not without a little pain in his voice, he asked, “Do you think I don’t truly love you?” Tears threatened to fall from Albert’s face at any moment.

“I believe you do, but I also believe... at least at the beginning, that you... stayed with me because of that money,” he admitted with difficulty.

“The money I forfeited to you?,” Arthur huffed. “Al, I stayed with you because I had nowhere else to go. I’d just seen my family torn apart. I woulda been lost in a real dark place without you.”

“You could’ve stayed with the Marstons,” he pointed out.

“John and I fight like cats and dogs _now._ Back then I woulda snapped his neck over somethin’ stupid, then Abigail woulda snuffed _me_ out.” The brief chuckle that escaped Albert felt like a lungfull of fresh air to a drowning man. Still, he tried deflecting.

“I’m sure Sadie or Charles would’ve welcomed your company.”

“There was nowhere else I wanted to be though. Hell, I stayed _here,_ in goddamn _Saint Denis_ for _weeks_ because I wanted to be with you.” Albert laughed and wiped away at his eyes. He was quiet for a few moments, mulling that over.

“So it wasn’t because of the money?”

“Do you not remember me payin’ off _your_ debt to Strauss? Since when do I care about money?”

Albert responded with that familiar snark, “I mean at the time you were a criminal. You were _literally_ robbing banks and trains.”

“I was a goddamn fool is what I was,” Arthur muttered, and he meant it. He shifted his position and leveled a new question at Albert. “Think about it, what’s the most expensive thing you’ve seen me buy?”

Albert needed a bit to think about it, and he didn’t seem particularly satisfied with the answer he summoned from his memory. “That new saddle for Ivy two years back? I’m not sure.”

“And how much was that?”

“A hundred and twenty five dollars,” he responded instantly.

“Oh, so you remember _that?,”_ Arthur teased and thankfully Albert finally cracked a smile that began spreading a warmth in his chest. “Al, you offer _so much more_ than just money to me.”

Nodding, Albert wiped his eyes again and sighed. “So you’re not mad at me?”

“Not mad, just… _hurt._ I don’t want you to feel like you need to hide things from me.”

Albert nodded and dipped his head, embarrassed. “I’ll try to be more honest going forward.”

“Didn’t we already promise each other that back in Armadillo?” Albert huffed.

“Something like that… Maybe we didn’t know each other as well as we thought we did before this all started,” he joked.

“Yeah, I’ll be real sure to thank Milton at the end of this...” Arthur, feeling like the topic was wrapping up, slid forward so he could lie down properly.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Albert said as he mirrored the motion to get more comfortable. They laid on their backs, watching the appliance that claimed to be a ceiling fan, while lost in thought. Albert was about to get up to turn off the lights when Arthur’s voice halted him.

“I just gotta ask something, Al.”

“Yes?”

Arthur looked to his left.

“... _five thousand dollars?”_

Albert threw his hands up as if it were the most logical value it _could_ be. “It was a nice round number. Easy to remember, too.” He looked to his husband on the right and challenged, “What would we have used that kind of money on?” It was a question asked only half-facetiously, so Arthur gave it some consideration.

“I don’t know. An actual proper guest bed for the house?”

“If we’re dropping five thousand dollars on a _bed,_ you better believe we’re not letting guests sleep on it.” He got up and turned off the two lamps in the room and slinked back into the bed.

In the dark, Arthur continued, “At least next time I’m gettin’ mauled by a bear out in the woods I can think ‘money well spent.’” He rolled onto his side away from Albert and after a pause he felt a foot on the small of his back, pushing him out of the bed.

“You know what? I think you _should_ go to the Hotel Grand tonight. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” Arthur laughed, even as he let himself be pushed onto the floor.

* * *

Wisely, Arthur waited until the following morning to tell Albert the news about John. He felt it was a touch hypocritical, what with all their talk of no longer keeping things from each other just the night before, but he felt it was the right move; they could only go through so much emotional turmoil in one evening.

They forewent breakfast and opted to just head straight to the gun shop, eager to get a plan hammered out with Charles. It _had_ rained the night before, as Arthur predicted, and he wondered if Charles made it indoors or if he ended up camping outside the city. They’d find out soon enough, he figured.

The gun shop was easy enough to find after spending so much time in Saint Denis over the years; Arthur had actually frequented it a few times in the past and found it to be more than amenable to his needs. And between all of the hunting he’d been doing over the past month and that _incident_ where Albert had fired 14 shots from his Lancaster repeater, he was probably due for a visit to stock up himself.

“I should probably head in and grab some things while we’re here, just in case. You mind waiting outside, keep an eye out for Charles?,” he asked.

“Certainly. Maybe this morning air will help wake me up anyway,” Albert said, running a hand over his eyes. He also tried stretching out his arms, unhindered by the lack of his arm sling, and didn’t even attempt to hide back a yawn. It always took him longer to wake up when they skipped breakfast.

“I’ll keep it cheap, I promise.” Albert rolled his eyes and shoved Arthur away and into the store.

Expecting the shop to be empty, Arthur was surprised to see he wasn’t even the first or second customer of the day. To the left, a large, portly man was at the counter, regaling about some hunting encounter with a large moose to anyone who would listen. The immigrant shop owner was nodding along, looking like he was only doing so in hopes of landing a sale. To the right were the boxes of ammunition that Arthur came in here looking for, but there was also a man wearing a familiar-looking hat over by the longarms mounted on that wall. Arthur approached the man, unnoticed, and spoke up when he recognized him.

“Doctor Nate. Never expected to see _you_ in a place like this.” Nate startled and seemed a little uneasy, despite his smile.

“Oh! Hello, Mister Mason. You gave me quite a scare there.”

“Didn’t mean to,” Arthur apologized. A quick scan around the shop suggested Nate came here alone. “You alright? Where’s Ben?”

Nate’s smile immediately dropped into a worried expression and he studied Arthur carefully, unsure of how to respond. Ultimately he whispered, “Something happened last night.”

_Something’s always happenin’ these days…_

Arthur glanced over his shoulder at Albert through the window. He figured he could spare a few minutes before Charles showed up, so he told Nate, “Tell me about it.”

And he _was_ right; Albert was dutifully waiting in front of the store waiting for their friend to arrive. He casually tipped his hat at any passerby who paid him any mind, trying to not look too suspicious standing in front of a store but not going in. He started running a possible itinerary for the day in his head until he caught sight of someone coming down the street that made his stomach drop. Dressed in what was apparently his standard attire, Agent Milton, alone, was walking down the street towards Albert, only half-paying attention to his surroundings. He was more focused on skimming the newspaper he held in one hand before him. He would soon be upon Albert.

He would soon be close enough to peer into the store’s front windows.

In an attempt to prevent this, Albert stepped forward and loudly greeted, “Agent Milton! What a pleasant surprise!” The Pinkerton immediately snapped his eyes forward at the interruption and offered a tight, formal smile to match his overall appearance.

“Ah, good morning, Mister… _Mason,_ was it?”

“That it is. You’ve a sharp mind, sir.” Albert put out a hand and it was received in a shake, but it was more to serve his ulterior motive; he’d managed to stop Milton at the next storefront over such that he wouldn’t be able to look inside the gun shop.

“Comes with the job,” he dismissed. “I also haven’t forgotten about the... _subject matter_ of our last discussion.”

“I can’t imagine you would.”

Milton paused then asked, “Have _you?”_ The question clearly caught Albert off guard.

“Have I what?”

“Forgotten about our discussion. I was saddened to hear that you never returned to our office to advance this matter you wanted me to look into.” He took a step forward under the guise of keeping his voice down, but Albert stood his ground, physically blocking Milton from advancing.

“Of course I haven’t forgotten.”

“Then you’ve lost interest in Mister Bell?,” Milton accused.

Barely thirty seconds into this conversation and Albert already found himself on the defensive, confused by the line of questioning. “No, not at all!”

Trying a different approach, “Have you found a competing agency that’s more to your liking?”

“I… I haven’t really had the opportunity to interview with anyone else.” Better to not get caught in a lie in case Milton had contacts within these supposed rival agencies.

“And why is that?”

Falling back on his previous lie, “I’ve been seeking a new piece of property to purchase, I’ll remind you.” Milton nodded in concession after a delay.

“On account of your recently-acquired inheritance. Of course; you _had_ mentioned that, I forgot. My apologies if I seem overeager, Mister Mason, it’s just that… there have been some developments on my end.”

Albert only had to halfway rely on his acting skills when he asked, “What kind of developments?”

“The kind that are mutually beneficial to both you and I. Tell me, do you consider yourself well informed, Mister Mason?,” Milton asked.

“At one point I did, though admittedly I’ve been a little lax with my reading as of late. Why do you ask?” Milton unfolded and supplied his newspaper for Albert to take.

“I think one of the stories in today’s paper may interest you.” Tentatively, Albert reached forward and took it, scanning the front page to find what Milton was looking for. He didn’t have to look hard.

_TRI-STATE TERROR KILLED_

He began reading the article detailing events that he was more familiar with than he would’ve liked, but at least he didn’t have to feign shock and horror at the words in front of him. He was just glad for the break in the conversation that quickly felt like it was turning into an interrogation.

Coincidentally, Arthur was the one doing the interrogating inside the gun shop.

“Okay, wait, slow down, from the beginning, _what happened?,”_ he hushed. Thankfully the hunter holding the owner’s attention had neither wrapped up his bragging nor made a purchase yet. Nate steadied himself with a breath and tried again.

“Ben received a letter at my office a few days after our last meeting. He’d mostly recovered from his episode at that point, but whatever was in that letter got him in a strange mood.”

“Strange how?”

Failing to hide his irritation, “Well he never told me what was _in_ the letter or who it was from, for starters... but I eventually deduced it had something to do with his _onetime friend_ that he had a falling out with, as we all saw.”

“He got a letter from Javier?” Nate instantly shushed him at the mention of the name but the other two men in the shop didn’t seem to perk up at all.

“I believe so, yes. He sat on the letter for a few days before ultimately making an abrupt decision that he was coming here, to Lemoyne, despite my warnings about the humid air.” He sighed and dropped his hands to his sides. “Obviously I wasn’t going to let him go alone.”

“So where is he now?,” Arthur asked.

“Last night he asked me to stay here, in the city, but I followed him out north of the swamps anyway. He waited for a while at some riverbank; I think he was expecting to meet Javier there, but he never appeared. Instead…” Nate trailed off and Arthur was beginning to feel like he was going to have to physically pry the story out of the man, but he tried striking an understanding tone.

“Instead what?”

“He was kidnapped by Pinkerton agents,” Nate said.

_This is gonna be a longer talk than I thought._

Arthur spared another quick look behind him through the window, but no longer saw Albert outside, and it didn’t appear as if he had entered the store either. He assumed maybe he saw Charles and walked out of view to greet him.

Charles certainly would’ve made for lighter conversation than Albert’s current partner.

He had milked the pause in the conversation for as long as he reasonably could without being accused of being illiterate. Without looking up from the paper Albert acted curious, “Was this the work of your agency?”

“No. Unfortunately some ‘unnamed bounty hunters’ found Mister Lowry before my team did, which has led to some dissatisfied clients. But at least that man won’t be killing anymore.” He held a hand out expectantly and Albert rolled up the paper and handed it back.

“I already feel a little safer.” _Maybe not in this exact moment, though._

Milton unrolled the paper and folded it back the way he had it originally. “Consequently, you’ll understand that this frees up my workload to take on new jobs.”

“That certainly appears to be the case,” he observed.

Milton began launching into some rehearsed sales pitch about exactly what kinds of services his agency offered, but Albert was only half-listening. He was too distracted by the sight over Milton’s shoulder of a tired-looking Charles coming down the street towards them. He hadn’t seemed to notice Albert yet, but there was no way this was going to end well if he didn’t act fast.

Cursing his luck, or lack thereof, Albert cut off the Pinkerton with, “Agent Milton, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I… I seem to have gotten myself turned around, do you know where... the… closest general store is?” 

Predictably, Milton regarded him with a displeased and curious look, but answered, “There’s one down the street behind you.”

“Would you mind walking with me?” Again, Milton hesitated, more visibly irritated this time.

“Could it wait for a minute? I was actually heading towards this shop just behind you.”

Albert wheeled around for effect before turning back. “A gun shop?”

“My job requires that I apply deadly force at times. I... trust this isn’t a surprise to you?”

“Not at all! Though I admit I’m never comfortable around firearms.”

“Says the man with the most ornate pistol I’ve ever seen,” Milton deadpanned. Said Volcanic was right there at Albert’s side, so it wasn’t like he could claim ignorance. Instead he opted to act embarrassed.

Hiding his eyes under the brim of his hat, he whispered to Milton, “Between you and me, it’s just a show piece to dissuade people; I’m an awful shot.” The Pinkerton actually chuckled at that.

“Well _I’d_ certainly think twice if I found myself staring down the barrel of that monster,” Milton quipped. He gently clapped Albert’s bad shoulder as he strode past. “Hang tight, Mister Mason, I’ll be out shortly.”

Albert easily fought back a wince, it had been a month after all since he was shot, but it still wasn’t comfortable or over-exert the shoulder. He wheeled around and had to try something else to keep Milton from going inside. The only leverage he really had was himself, so he began with, “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll head down to the general store myself then, but I have a slew of portraits I’m scheduled to take today. Perhaps I could meet up with you some other time, in a few days maybe?”

With a hand on the door to enter, Milton froze. “A few days?” Albert internally sighed a breath of relief.

“I’m a busy man, Agent,” he bragged.

“You must take some fantastic portraits.”

Humbly, “Well I must be doing something right!” He could almost feel Milton’s narrowed eyes trace him from head to toe.

“Where is your equipment?”

“My?...” He suddenly was aware of how flimsy his alibi seemed without his trusty camera bag at his side. “Oh! I left it on my horse’s saddle! Thank you for reminding me.” He quickly walked past Milton again such that the Pinkerton wasn’t looking past him at Charles, who was still approaching.

“Seems an important thing to leave unattended. Aren’t you concerned your horse would escape its hitch or run off?”

Albert lazily batted at the air with a hand. “Oh, she’s a sweet old thing, she’s so passive she probably hasn’t even noticed I’ve walked off.”

Milton seized on the mistake. “Your horse that’s afraid of its own shadow? The one that bucked you off?” Albert mentally backpedaled until he found his footing again.

“No. _God_ no, I got rid of that miserable nag. No, I have a new, older horse now. Much calmer.”

“That’s no small expense,” Milton observed.

“Courtesy of my father,” Albert supplied, trying to sound as crestfallen as he could manage.

“How quickly I forget.” Milton glanced inside for just a moment before pulling away. “I suppose I can spare a few minutes to walk with you. There was something else I was meaning to speak to you about.”

“Oh?” Albert wasn’t sure what else Milton had to say, but he was just happy to get the conversation moving, literally, away from the gun shop. Away from Arthur. 

Who was growing increasingly frustrated with Nate.

“What do you _mean_ you didn’t see where they took him?”

Nate, likewise, was getting exasperated with the topic. “It was late and getting dark quickly. All I know is that it was away from the city.”

 _“Shit,”_ he uttered under his breath. He had enough on his plate with John, he didn’t have time for this as well. Still, it wasn’t Nate’s fault and it didn’t answer his biggest question. Arthur shook his head and asked, “What’re you doing _here_ then?” Nate clenched his jaw and exhaled through his nose, looking prematurely defeated.

“I… was intending to rescue him.” Judging by his expression and body language, he knew how unlikely that plan was to succeed.

“By yourself?”

“Well it’s not like-“

Nate’s words were cut off by the ringing of the bell above the front door. They both turned to see Charles had entered. He gave Arthur a subtle nod, but seemed to be keeping up the pretense in public that they were strangers. Arthur turned back to Nate.

“He’s with me,” he whispered.

Whispering back but not taking his eyes off the newest customer, the doctor replied, “Yes, I remember seeing him at the meeting, but didn’t have a chance to be introduced.”

“We can trust him.” He meant to reassure Nate, but that only seemed to make him more skeptical.

 _“Can_ we? It seems like Javier tricked Ben for his own gain, how do you know _he_ isn’t planning the same?”

He understood Nate was distressed, but his patience was wearing thin, and accusing Charles, _Charles,_ of plotting to betray him was almost enough to push Arthur over his limit.

Trying again, he growled, “He’s not _like_ that. But Nate, this-“

 _“Doctor Nate,”_ he corrected. Arthur forced his eyes shut for a moment and exhaled.

 _“Doctor_ Nate, this plan of yours is crazy. You’re just gonna try fightin’ a bunch of Pinkertons by yourself?”

“What choice do I have?,” he threw right back in an elevated whisper. Arthur couldn’t blame him and absolutely understood where this conviction was coming from, but as best he could tell Nate wasn’t capable of doing this, especially not alone. After all, he was a healer, not a fighter, not like Bill.

“I can’t let you do this, that’s suicide.” Nate signaled his agreement with a frown that slowly transformed from disappointed to pleading.

“Then will _you_ get him?” Arthur knew it was coming, but he was still privately hoping Nate wouldn’t ask. But as if to really drive the knife in, he added in a whisper, “I saved your partner’s life once, now I’m asking you to save mine. What Ben and I have… you of all people must understand how rare it is.”

And he did. It wasn’t just love, it was love in the face of a society that wouldn’t accept it. A love kept hidden, but true and pure and important all the same. Should the worst come to pass for Bill, Nate wouldn’t be able to properly and publicly grieve, instead having to mourn in private, alone, and pretend that it wasn’t as bad as it was. If Nate hadn’t been able to remove that bullet from Albert’s shoulder, if it had become infected and Arthur was forced to bury him far from home, was that not the exact situation Nate currently found himself in?

 _I saved your partner’s life once, now I’m asking you to save mine._ He already knew those words would haunt him if he said no, even more so if Albert ever found out Nate had said that.

Albert was a little preoccupied in that moment however.

“You said you were heading out to Blackwater this evening?,” Albert confirmed.

“That’s my intention, yes. I don’t know how long this new lead on Mister Bell will stay relevant. In my line of work, a few days or even hours could mean a world of difference.” The general store was in sight at this point, and if Albert lingered away from the gun shop for too long, he risked Arthur coming to look for him, and he would rather like to avoid a shootout that morning.

“Well I don’t envy you; my line of work mostly involves angry housewives complaining about how their photo came out, but I always tell them that the camera adds ten pounds.” Milton forced a polite smirk for all of two seconds before continuing.

“Perhaps you could… no, never mind,” he stopped himself. A plot of some sort, undoubtedly, but Albert played along.

“What is it?”

“I was about to suggest you come out to meet me in Blackwater after I meet with my contact, but that would be inappropriate of me.”

“Inappropriate how?”

Milton gestured loosely between them, “Well we’ve never codified an agreement. You’re not my client and I’m not currently in your employ.”

_He’s really desperate for my money. Guess that plan worked after all._

Albert pretended to be wrestling with an internal debate before meeting Milton’s eyes again. “Perhaps it’s time we rectified that.” Milton flashed a grin in response that could not be described as anything other than predatory.

“I’m inclined to agree. When you have the time, I’d suggest meeting with Mister Wilkes back at my office today to handle the paperwork; he was the gentleman at the front desk who helped you last time.”

Albert nodded and flatly lied, “I’ll try to find time for it in my schedule today. But how will I find you in Blackwater?” They stopped across the street from the general store and waited for a trolley to pass.

“I’m staying with a friend who lives there, he’s the barber on the Main Street.”

As luck would have it, that was the very barber Albert had been going to for five years. Before he knew what he was saying, he blurted out, “Henry Wilton?”

“You’re familiar?” Albert instantly knew he’d made a mistake.

“I’ve heard of him,” he supplied weakly. Milton rightly scrutinized this.

“You’ve heard of a _barber_ in another city? In another state?”

“Well... I was in Blackwater recently. During my property search. Charming little town. Like a smaller Saint Denis without the oppressive humidity.”

Milton was clearly unconvinced, but he dropped the matter anyway. “That is an apt description. You’re more well-traveled than I gave you credit for.”

“I certainly do get around a lot for a photographer,” he admitted. _That_ much actually was true.

“Then you’ll have no trouble making your way back out there it seems.”

“Not at all. Maybe I can even schedule a few portraits while I’m there,” Albert added, hoping to reinforce this fiction he’d constructed.

“You’re quite the opportunist, though I suppose you need to be in your line of work. Still, I look forward to working with you.”

Albert hid his clenched fist at the back-handed compliment and let it slide. “Of course, and I as well.” Seeing that Milton was no longer taking the lead, he asked, “Are you heading back to that gun shop now?” The agent was looking down the main boulevard that ran parallel to the docks, in a different direction.

Without looking at Albert, Milton replied, “Not just yet. I may as well check the post office while I’m over here; I’m expecting a telegram.” There was an uncharacteristic bit of mystery in the delivery, but Albert wasn’t going to press his luck any further than he already had that morning.

“Well I won’t keep you any longer. Thank you for your time, Agent.” Milton turned back and shook his hand.

“Likewise.”

They parted after that and Albert spent a total of five seconds inside the general store before exiting and briskly walking back to the gun shop, hoping Arthur was still inside.

Technically, he wasn’t, but just outside in front of it. He tucked away his newly purchased ammunition into his saddle and motioned to Charles to head down an alleyway where they’d meet in a few minutes. He had to wrap things up with Nate before he could deliver more bad news.

“I gotta talk with Al first, you understand.” Nate nodded and looked down at the ground.

“I do. Perhaps... he and I could come with you, to help?” Arthur chuckled and shook his head at the ridiculous suggestion.

“You saw for yourself what happened last time Al got in a firefight. And have you ever even fired a gun?”

Nate’s face took on a wistful expression as he summoned up what appeared to be a fond memory. “Ben took me out into the desert a few times to try shooting bottles. I wasn’t very good.”

“Yeah, well he’s a shit teacher.”

“That’s for sure.” Nate chuckled, but then his face broke with worry and he struggled to maintain his composure. Arthur felt an unexpected twinge of sympathy.

“Hey, he’s gonna be alright. He’s a tough son of a bitch.”

“I know, but with his cough-”

“Doctor Nate?” They both wheeled around at the intrusion to find Albert a few feet away. Nate summoned up some decorum and straightened his posture.

“Good morning, Mister Mason. Shouldn’t you be wearing your sling?,” he inquired.

“I… yes, probably. We were actually just about to head back to the hotel room to pick it up.” He shot Arthur a pleading expression that signaled ‘just go with it.’

“Yeah, we were just out for a walk this early, but we’re headed back now,” Arthur reinforced.

“Alright. Well if you need to find me, I’m staying at the Hotel Grand, if you know where that is.” Arthur bit back a snarky comment and just nodded. Albert all but grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him up the street, away from a forlorn Nate and the alleyway Arthur had just sent Charles down to wait for him.

When they rounded a corner and ducked into a small courtyard hemmed in by apartments Arthur finally had to speak up. “Al, we need to talk.”

Wheeling around to face him directly, Albert responded, “We certainly do.”

“I think I’m gonna have to leave town for a few days.” Albert gave him a strange look he couldn’t decipher before saying something Arthur didn’t expect at all.

“Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You get a plot hook! And YOU get a plot hook! And YOU get a plot hook too!
> 
> Things are finally gonna start getting a little more action-y from here on out, but my chapter layout is getting a little wonky. I’ll need to re-work it again, but maybe we’re looking at 24 or 25 chapters total? We’ll get there when we get there, but we /will/ get there; I’ve finally reached that fic writer’s rite-of-passage where I have a fully-fleshed out story of what I want to write next, but I’ll be good and wrap this one up before launching into the next one.
> 
> Was the bit where they were arguing about where to go for a dinner a not-at-all-subtle dig at my indecisive husband? NooOOOOooo, not at all…
> 
> I only recently realized that the Hotel Grand (the Hotel you meet Mary at for her second mission in Chapter Four), is literally just down the street from the Saint Denis Bank. Like they’re almost next to each other. This makes some parts of both this work and Summer of ‘99 not make sense so we’re just gonna… pretend like they’re on different streets. There, problem solved.
> 
> I’m also starting to realize that this work is like 50% late night heart-to-heart conversations in hotel rooms, but like, that’s probably what a romantic relationship between two men would look like in this setting/time period? Especially because there’s an in-fiction reason why they’re staying away from the house. I just hope it’s not coming off as repetitive.
> 
> I also hope this financial secret Albert’s been sitting on was a surprise but didn’t completely come out of left field. I kinda hinted at it when he kept getting interrupted when Arthur asked how much money John initially gave him, and in Chapter 10 (“Homecomings and Goings”) when they went back to the house, Albert didn’t immediately find a stack of cash when he reached up to the rafters, which should’ve been a tip that something was up. Also in the last chapter when they were talking about how Edmund Lowry’s bounty was “only” $22, he said “every little bit helps.”
> 
> Finally, $10,500 in 1899 was equivalent to $325,508.49 in 2019, which means Albert’s donation of $5,000 in 1903 was equivalent to $144,027.19.


	15. D.V.D.L. 1855-1899

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur visits Dutch. Alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think this entry finally pushes this work over the 100k mark, which is the second time I’m doing so. If you had told me this time last year I would take up writing as a hobby I would’ve laughed, though I guess I have Miss ‘Rona to thank for all this new free time.
> 
> This chapter f l e w out of my hands and I don’t know why, but I figured I’d put it up early rather than sit on it. I’ll trust casually throw out a whump/torture warning up at the top while we're here.
> 
> This chapter picks up a day after where the last one left off, but there is a brief flashback to the previous night.
> 
> _UPDATE- This chapter was updated for minor edits on 12/12/2020_

Gray stones crunched underfoot in protest as Arthur dismounted Ivy. He allowed the panting animal to take a well-earned drink at the river behind him as he cautiously strode towards the isolated monument a few dozen feet away. A stray and chilling wind - courtesy of the impending inclement weather if the gray skies were any indication - blew some browned and dried leaves in his path. Undeterred, Arthur stepped past the season’s first casualties and came to a stop at a respectful distance from his destination. Despite being weathered, the text carved into the wooden cross was still legible.

_D.V.D.L. 1855-1899_

Barely louder than a whisper, “Hey, Dutch.”

To an outside observer, it was just a man and a horse taking a late afternoon break by a river bank before the weather turned foul. Arthur _wished_ that that was all this was.

“Sorry we didn’t make it around this year,” he apologized under his breath. “Seems it’s gettin’ harder to wrangle everyone together these days.” He uneasily shifted his weight and scratched the back of his neck, as if he knew it was a flimsy excuse, as if Dutch’s disappointed gaze was still freezing him in place like a spotlight.

There was some truth to it however; poor coordination among the surviving gang members interrupted their annual tradition of spending the day here, at Dutch’s grave site before going on to “visit,” Hosea, Lenny and Sean’s shared final resting place. This year Arthur had spent the auspicious date of July 31st alone in the woods somewhere deep in Tall Trees. He left under the guise of hunting game, but when he came back after nightfall empty-handed, Albert had known not to say anything.

“Overall it _was_ a good year for us,” he continued at a volume only he could hear. “Mary-Beth finished her first book. Sadie killed Colm, though you probably already ran into him down there,” he chuckled before looking down and spinning his wedding band in place around his finger. “And… I think I got married?… We didn’t do nothin’ fancy. More like we’re finally just callin’ it what it is.”

Arthur raised his head and looked around. He was surprised to see how many leaves around him were already turning to bright yellows and oranges to clash against the muted skies. Evidently the foliage changed earlier out here than it did back in Tall Trees.

“I still don’t think you’d like him,” he murmured to himself softly, but more out of amusement than sadness. His brief smile waned to a more forlorn expression. “Things went to shit a little after that. Milton came crawlin’ outta whatever hole he’s been in all these years. Took Jack, tried to get us all to turn on each other and now John’s bein’ a dumbass again.” _I can’t blame him though,_ went left unsaid to Arthur’s imaginary audience, even though he was thinking it.

Ivy snapped her head up and stilled, carefully swiveling her ears, relying on her prey animal instincts to assess the area for threats. Whatever had spooked her ceased, and she resumed drinking at the river bank after a few long seconds that Arthur didn’t notice.

“So now I’m here, waitin’ to run into someone, though I don’t know who. Guess I’ll know when I see ‘em.”

He lowered his gaze back down to the grave marker, painfully noting for only a moment how much nicer it was than what he had provided for Eddie. He pushed the thought aside. 

“Hey, Milton said he nabbed someone who came to visit you. You know who it was?”

The wooden cross did not respond.

“Aww, c’mon, don’t be like that. You can tell me.”

Back at the tree line, a man dressed in black slacks, black overcoat and a distinctive red vest slowly stepped out from behind his cover, aiming a pump-action shotgun at Arthur. “Put your hands up!,” he ordered. Arthur lazily panned his eyes over to the Pinkerton.

“Guess this is my guy,” he whispered. He wet his lips and respectfully rested a hand on the top of the cross as he walked past it and towards the newcomer. “I’ll catch you later, Dutch.”

“I said hands up!,” the man repeated. There was conviction in his voice, no sign of a tremble or hesitation. Whether this confidence was deserved or misplaced, Arthur couldn’t say.

“Yeah, yeah, heard you the first time…,” he grumbled as he complied and raised his hands to rest behind his head. The agent came within ten feet, easily a lethal range for his shotgun, but no closer. Even in his younger days when Arthur could lunge and move faster than most men his size, he wouldn’t have been able to close this sized gap without catching a hole in his chest; this man knew what he was doing.

The Pinkerton scrutinized him and stated flatly, “You’re Arthur Morgan.”

“Figure that out on your own?”

No response. A lack of humor was a prerequisite for the job, it seemed.

Trying a different approach, Arthur used a turn of phrase more suited to leave Albert’s mouth than his own. “You have me at a disadvantage, mister?...”

 _“Agent_ Fordham,” he replied, stressing the title.

 _Great, another_ Doctor _Nate situation..._

“Course, ‘scuse me,” Arthur apologized. They both knew he didn’t mean it.

“I have instructions to apprehend any former members of the Van der Linde gang that arrive here and bring them into Pinkerton custody,” Fordham announced before narrowing his eyes. “Something tells me you knew what would happen if you came here.”

“And what would that be?”

“The fact that you’re completely unarmed at the moment.” It was a true statement, but also an intentional act. Arthur’s entire arsenal, even his gun belt and knife, were stored back on Ivy’s one hundred and twenty five dollar saddle. He even left his hat behind; the only way he could feel more naked was if he actually took off the rest of his clothes.

“Maybe I was just takin’ a rest and you caught me off guard,” Arthur suggested with a shrug.

“Other agents may enjoy these kinds of games. I prefer to get to the point.” A respectable philosophy. For a moment Arthur got the sense he would have gotten along with the younger man were they not on opposite sides of this conflict, so he obliged the man pointing a gun at his face.

“I wanna speak to Milton. Put an end to this nonsense.” For the first time in this interaction, Fordham had an involuntary reaction, a flinch. He was already holding the shotgun with good, practiced form, but Arthur caught the way he subtly readjusted his grip. He didn’t know what to make of that.

“...that can be arranged.” Arthur barely nodded in acknowledgement as they held each others’ gaze in silence for a few seconds.

“So how’s this gonna work?,” he prompted.

Carefully, Fordham reached inside his coat with his left hand, sure to keep the gun leveled at Arthur with good trigger discipline with his right, and removed a pair of metal handcuffs. He showed them to Arthur before tossing them over for the outlaw to catch.

“Put those on,” Fordham commanded, resuming his two-handed grip on the weapon.

“Arms in front, or behind me?,” Arthur asked sarcastically, expecting the worse answer. But again, Fordham hesitated.

“There’s two ways we can do this: either I hogtie you and throw you on the back of my horse, or I can tie a rope to you and have you walk beside me.”

_Wasn’t expecting a choice._

“Where’re we goin’?”

With a curt head shake, “I can’t tell you.”

“Is it far?”

“That’s subjective.” It was probably the best answer he was going to get and Arthur didn’t want to push his luck any further. He was just happy that the encounter hadn’t started off with gunshots or him getting roughed up.

In an attempt to maintain a sliver of dignity, he begrudgingly announced, “I’ll walk,” before willingly clamping the handcuffs around his wrists, hands in front rather than behind him. Fordham circled around Arthur in place, maintaining that safe-yet-lethal distance and directed him away from the river, in the direction he came.

“Move.”

And so Arthur did. But not without shooting another question to the man behind him, “What about my horse?”

“I can send someone later to come back for it.” Wherever they were heading, it sounded as if there would be more people that were involved in this.

“You got a big operation goin’ on?”

There was no response. Arthur understood it to be the warning that it was, and he stopped talking for a bit afterwards.

It wasn’t long before they approached a new horse, hitched by itself to a small tree. Fordham was out here alone, guarding a grave site out in the middle of the woods. To Arthur, that sounded like the kind of task relegated to a junior member.

Fordham placed his shotgun into this new horse’s saddle, but made a point to pull back his coat and flash the revolver at his side. Silent message delivered, he removed some rope from the saddle and steadily approached Arthur to tie it to the handcuffs. Arthur did not resist, but stared intensely at the younger man throughout the interaction.

Satisfied with the knot, Fordham said, “There’s one more thing.” He went back into a saddlebag one last time and removed a burlap sack.

Knowing full well what was about to happen, Arthur still groaned, _“Really?”_

“Can’t have you knowing where we’re going. Apologies in advance, Mister Morgan.” The Pinkerton’s face, showing what appeared to be genuine remorse, or at least a convincing performance of it, was the last thing Arthur saw before the bag went over his head.

He could hear Fordham mount up to his left and with a gentle tug on the rope, Arthur dutifully began walking blind.

This part of the country where New Hanover and Lemoyne bled into each other wasn’t hilly like Roanoke Ridge to the north, but it wasn’t flat either. More than a few times Arthur found himself stumbling over a change in elevation or a tree root, signaling that they were intentionally not taking an established road. After the fifth or sixth instance of this, Fordham began calling out noteworthy obstacles, but that was the closest thing to a conversation he would allow. They were also making various twists and turns, likely on purpose, so Arthur’s sense of direction was so turned around he didn’t know which way was up before long. He didn’t mind though. He didn’t need to know where he was going. His role in this plan was to simply _get_ there.

The plan that Albert hated.

“I hate this plan, Arthur,” were his exact words from the evening before, to be more precise. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time Arthur had heard them.

“Well I don’t like your plan either!,” he’d shot back once they were back in the safety of their hotel room. Arthur hated how small their world had become, always scurrying to get behind closed doors, always jumping from one rented room to another, like island-hopping across a sea of uncertainty and danger.

 _“My_ plan is hardly a ‘plan’ at all; I’m just meeting with Milton in Blackwater,” Albert pointed out.

“Yeah, _alone._ I don’t like that.” They both stood, too tense to relax after the morning’s developments. Arthur paced by the bed while Albert crossed his arms and leant his back against the closed window, curtains drawn to block out the light from the streetlamps outside.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you being there would make my job _significantly_ more difficult for me.”

“And what is your job?,” Arthur challenged with just a touch more sarcasm than Albert cared for.

“To figure out what Milton knows. He still trusts me, I see no reason not to exploit that. And I’ll remind you that my first plan worked; he’s obviously desperate for my money.”

Arthur bit back a comment about how he’d try to get money out of someone who gave out five thousand dollar donations too. Instead he asked, “And why’s he goin’ to Blackwater? Why can’t you just wait for him to come back?”

“He said he had a potential lead on someone matching Micah’s description.”

Arthur stopped pacing.

“Micah’s dead.” He hated how it sounded like he was trying to convince himself of it in saying so. Albert uncrossed his arms and held them out in front of him in a calming gesture.

“I know. Which makes me curious as to what he’s been hearing about. Maybe his contact is talking about a former gang member and not Micah specifically.”

“What ‘former gang member’ would be out by Blackwater?” He realized the answer before he finished asking the question, but Albert supplied it anyway.

“John would.”

Arthur slowly exhaled through his nose. _John never did make things easy._

“You think he got noticed?”

“It’s entirely possible,” Albert admitted. “I just want to go out there and see if I can suss out what Milton knows. If it _is_ John, I can… I don’t know, warn him or Abigail somehow? That’s time-sensitive, _that’s_ why I can’t just wait for Milton to come back here.”

_Hard to argue with that._

“Just… be careful out there.” Albert’s face fell to displeasure and he crossed his arms again.

“I’d tell you the same, but I don’t even think you should _go._ This is needlessly reckless. And hypocritical, I’ll point out”

Defensively, “I ain’t turnin’ myself in to give up, I’m doin’ it to find Bill, _that’s_ the difference.” Albert regarded him sadly and sighed as he averted his eyes.

“There has to be a better way to find him…”

“Look, all we know is where Bill got taken. I’ll go there, pretend to wanna talk, and let them take me. They’ll take me to the same place Bill is, and Charles’ll follow after.” Albert’s eyes were on him again, full of doubt this time.

“You really think Charles is capable of breaking two wanted men out of Pinkerton custody? Alone?,” Albert asked skeptically.

“I do,” he admitted, truthfully. “Charles’s smarter than me, he’ll figure something out.”

Albert pinched the bridge of his nose, but knew Arthur’s mind was set on the plan and pushing the matter further would only provoke a fight neither of them wanted. In defeat, he asked, “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow. Charles wants to get there early. The more daylight he has, the easier it’ll be for him to follow.” Albert lowered his hand from his face and nodded in acknowledgment, keeping his eyes on the ground.

“The earliest train I could book on short notice leaves tomorrow afternoon; I won’t be getting into Riggs Station until late.” The specifics of the next twenty four hours had a sobering effect on them both; this was real, it was happening, no longer just hypothetical plans.

“So I might not see you for a few days,” Arthur commented regretfully.

“Sounds like it.” A silence lingered over them for a stretch, neither of them wanting to acknowledge that their time was suddenly limited, that the clock on the side table was now their enemy. As if he could read Arthur’s mind, Albert finally muttered, “This is like that train job in Annesburg all over again..”

It was, in a way. The uncertainty, the risk. The specific threat of Pinkertons. But there were differences as well that Arthur felt necessary to address. He bridged the gap between them and wrapped his arms around his sulking husband, pressed a kiss into the other man’s forehead and soon felt hands on his own back pulling them closer together.

“I’ll be careful, Al. I ain’t young and stupid like I was back then.” He felt a warm breath across his front as Albert huffed and buried his face deeper into Arthur’s chest.

“We weren’t exactly young then, either,” he quipped.

“So what’s that make us now?” Albert pulled back and offered a weak smile.

“Two old men in denial. Certainly too old for all this excitement; I feel like by next week this will all be gray,” he said, gesturing at his beard with a free hand. Arthur shrugged indifferently.

“I won’t mind. I’ll go gray with you.”

A laugh escaped Albert’s chest. “You old sap.” There was a familiar warmth in his smile, but also an unmistakable sadness behind his glassy eyes that Arthur unfortunately had seen before as well. For just a flash, he wasn't sure if it was Albert or Mary giving him that look.

“What’s wrong?” A worrying pause.

“Nothing, it’s just… I love you and…”

_And you’re afraid you won’t get to tell me again._

“I love you too, Al. Please know that.”

And Albert did. Arthur didn’t profess to know many things, but he knew that the man he held in his arms in that moment _knew_ that there was love there between them. Even in spite of all the doubts and secrets old and new that had come to light, all the challenges that battered and threatened to sever their bond, it was not enough to do so.

Albert held Arthur’s jaw with both hands and kissed him. Gently at first, then with an increased hunger that was willingly reciprocated. When his lips and tongue traveled down to Arthur’s stubbled neck that hadn’t known a razor in several days there was no more room for ambiguity as to what this was; a potential last hurrah. One last night together. Arthur tried not to think about what the next day would bring, and that was easy enough as his body reacted to Albert’s. An involuntary sigh. Faster heartbeats. A firm hand on the ass. Hips bucking together. A hand snaked under Albert’s shirt to explore his back. Another hand diving into Arthur’s pants. A tumble backwards into the bed that was second nature at this point. The familiar friction of body hair graining against his own, a wetness he’d felt a hundred times before as-

Arthur tripped.

“Watch out for that,” Fordham announced too late.

Arthur managed to catch his footing and avoided a face plant into the ground, but barely two steps later his foot hit an identical piece of metal. Judging by the sound of gravel crunching under horse hooves, it seemed like they were crossing a railroad.

“That one too,” Fordham added, again after the fact.

“Oh, _now_ you got a sense of humor?” It was hard to tell through the burlap sack over his head, but he could almost swear he heard the man next to him huff despite himself.

A short while later, Fordham clicked his tongue and slowed his horse to a halt.

“Whoah, boy,” he cooed to the animal.

“We there yet?,” Arthur asked from under his hood.

“Not quite, but soon… Step through your cuffs, put your hands behind you.”

“Why?”

“So the others won’t think that I was going easy on you.”

“Why would they think that?”

“Because I was going easy on you,” the Pinkerton responded matter-of-factly. Arthur didn’t know what this guy’s deal was, but he did what he was told, cursing his joints that were no longer as flexible as they once were and almost losing his balance in the process. Soon enough they were on the move again, but Arthur felt considerably more vulnerable and less comfortable with his arms behind him. Not long after, a voice called out.

“Who’s there?,” an unseen man in the distance shouted.

“Agent Fordham.”

“Who’s that there with you?” Arthur kept silent.

“A new prisoner.”

Sounding enthused, the guard said, “No shit! Which one you got there?”

“Know your place, Watkins,” Fordham bristled. A few strides later and he dismounted next to Arthur and guided him up some wooden steps onto what sounded like a deck or a porch.

 _Not high enough to be a gallows,_ Arthur thought morbidly. He was led through a doorway and immediately sensed he was indoors now, judging by how all the new men’s voices bounced off the walls around him.

_“Uh oh…”_

“Caught another one already?”

“Let’s take a look at him.”

Arthur tried not to flinch at the new sets of hands falling on him, but Fordham abruptly yanked him back.

“Hands off. This is an agency matter.”

“Aww c’mon, Milton said we could have some _fun_ with ‘em.” Arthur suddenly had a deeply worrying thought.

_Is Milton working with the Murfree Brood?_

“What, the first two weren’t enough?,” Fordham barked back. It seemed he had a very tenuous grip on the situation, which is probably why he pushed Arthur to keep moving. “I’m putting him with the other new one, I need to speak with him first.”

A chorus of mocking groans followed Arthur’s footsteps as he was directed into yet another room, deeper into whatever structure he was in. A firm hand pressed down on his shoulders guided Arthur to sit on the floor and the sack was finally removed from his head, though the stuffy air was little improvement. Quickly getting his bearings, Arthur was in what appeared to have been a bedroom of a fancy house at one point judging by the faded wallpaper and chipped crown molding. To his left was a window, boarded up with poorly-nailed planks and barricaded with a decrepit dresser for good measure. To his right was Fordham and the door they came through. Directly across from him, also seated on the floor, was Bill Williamson.

“Hey, Bill,” he tossed out as nonchalantly as he could manage. Fordham cocked an eyebrow.

“Interesting that he called you ‘Bill’ and not ‘Ben,’” he directed at the other captive.

‘Ben’ turned that classic mean scowl to the Pinkerton, and then to Arthur. _“God_ dammit, Morgan...”

“They know who we are, Bill, no use lyin’ to ‘em.”

“Lemme guess, Javier tricked you too?,” he threw out bitterly. That wasn’t the case, but their brief encounter in front of the Rhodes hotel a few days back certainly had a different sentiment to it now.

Arthur straightened up his back against the wall and got as comfortable as the situation would allow. “Nah, I came willingly. I’m gonna try and get Milton to agree to peace, put an end to all this.”

“These bastards ain’t interested in no damn peace. ‘Peace’ is what got _me_ stuck here.” Now that Arthur’s eyes were properly adjusted to having the sack removed from his head he could see various bruises along Bill’s arms and face.

“I need to inform Agent Ross that you’re here,” Fordham announced. “I’ll return shortly with him.” As he stepped out of the room, Bill made a poor and unsuccessful attempt to trip the man that went ignored. Curiously, Fordham left the door to the room open, almost as if he were daring the two prisoners to attempt something. But Arthur could still hear several upbeat voices in the adjacent room he’d come in through. Judging by how Bill slumped in place with resignation, he was probably having the same thoughts.

Arthur kept his voice low when he asked, “Are all those fellers out there Pinkertons?” Bill sighed and threw his head back against the wall with a small _thud._

“No. Just Fordham and Ross, best I can tell.”

“Then who are the rest? Murfrees?”

Bill shook his head, but had to take a few moments to clear his throat. He looked exhausted from the effort, to say nothing of his overall defeated demeanor.

“You’ll find out soon enough once they come in here and start beatin’ on ya,” he responded dejectedly. Admittedly, Bill had already gone through two days of hell here, but Arthur wasn’t willing to give up just yet.

“Would it kill you to just answer a damn question?” Bill scowled at him again before replying.

“They’re folk we wronged. Turns out we killed a bunch of their brothers and fathers back in the day. Heard Ross refer to ‘em as ‘volunteers.’”

_Volunteers?_

Going after Edmund Lowry suddenly didn’t seem like a worthwhile investment if half of Milton’s hired muscle was willing to do it for free. That last name didn’t ring a bell however.

“Who’s Ross?”

Two sets of footsteps somewhere in this building signaled Fordham’s imminent return, presumably with said senior Pinkerton agent.

“The guy you're about to meet,” Bill hushed.

A man wearing Fordham’s exact outfit, Pinkerton agent standard attire apparently, entered the room. This man was older, about Arthur’s age, and both shorter and less muscular than Fordham, but he certainly had a more commanding presence that the younger agent didn’t possess.

“Lemme guess, you’re-“ The words were literally smacked out of Arthur’s mouth by the back of Ross’ gloved hand.

_He’s quicker than he looks, I’ll give him that._

“You will speak when spoken to. And not a moment sooner.” Arthur straightened back up on the floor and gave a cheeky, unnecessary smile.

“Yes, sir.” Another smack. Arthur worked his jaw. It had been a while since he’d been struck in the face like that, his scuffle with John in the woods being the only recent exception.

Ross, who hadn’t even bothered to introduce himself, paced along the length of the room in silence until he was satisfied that Arthur wouldn’t speak out of turn again. Fordham waited by the door, hands clasped behind his back, but making a concerted effort not to look at his boss. Bill, likewise, was trying to make himself appear as small as possible.

“Does the name Hal Baker ring a bell?,” Ross asked.

“No.”

“Frank Wade?”

“No.”

“Mitch Pierce?”

“No! I don’t know who the he-“ The price Arthur paid for letting his irritation show was a swift punch to the stomach. It left him winded and suddenly very aware of how old he had gotten.

“The least you could do for the lives you’ve taken is know their names, don’t you think?” A rhetorical question, but Arthur answered anyway.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“These were but a few of the men who fell at the Battle of Horseshoe Overlook. Good men. _Friends_ of mine. Both veterans and new recruits alike.”

Arthur couldn’t help but laugh. Ross could glare at him all he liked, but the irony of the situation could not be ignored.

“I wasn’t even there that night.”

“He wasn’t.” Bill earned himself a swift backhand of his own for speaking out of turn, but Arthur appreciated the defense all the same. 

Ross straightened his posture again and stood over Arthur, looking down at him with sheer contempt. “I don’t believe you.” Arthur raised his chin up with as much dignity as the situation would allow.

“I was out by Strawberry that night. Got in a ton of shit with Dutch for missing out on all that fun.” Ross narrowed his eyes at him.

“So you were involved in the Strawberry Massacre,” he accused.

Arthur didn’t mean to laugh, not really, but it escaped him before he could catch it. It wasn’t his fault Ross didn’t see the humor of it all.

“Now this is gonna sound crazy, but I had nothing to do with that neither.”

The agent standing over him scowled his face into an ugly and fearsome caricature of its normal state before winding a foot back and driving it deep into Arthur’s exposed gut. Arthur saw stars and coughed violently, feeling like he would vomit from the pain.

“You’re a horrible liar, Mister Morgan.”

“I ain’t lyin’!,” he snarled back, any semblance of snark now long gone.

“I’ve heard enough. I don’t know why I expected any remorse out of you. Clearly you haven’t changed at all.”

“You don’t know shit about me.” They were the last words he was able to get out before Ross quickly knelt down to his level and wrapped his hands tightly around Arthur’s neck. Tight enough to restrict airflow. Arthur took it in stride.

_He’s just trying to scare me._

They traded point-blank, hate-filled glares as Ross began explaining, “I know you came here to see Milton, didn’t you? Now that is a real shame; he won’t be here for another two days. That last telegram I sent him said I only had one Van der Linde being held here. And I don’t have it in me to send a correction. So maybe there should only _be_ one of you before he gets here.”

_He’s bluffing._

It was a strong and unforgiving grip that Ross had crushing Arthur’s throat. Certainly the type of grip one would use to choke the life out of a former outlaw you believed murdered your friends. The kind of grip that could remove the spark of life from a grown man’s eyes in just a few minutes as Arthur unfortunately knew from personal experience.

_He’s bluffing._

Arthur’s body didn’t know that. His confused lungs reflexively gulped for air and found nothing but pressure. The pathetic gurgle that resulted was barely audible over the sound of blood rushing in his ears, steadily increasing in tempo. He instinctively tried rolling into a different position to break the lock, but Ross dropped a knee onto Arthur’s thigh to further pin him down.

_He’s bluffing._

This was going on for much longer than Arthur thought it would. He was starting to prefer the strikes and cheap shots.

_…is he bluffing?_

Ross’ expression wasn’t detached, not indifferent, but very much present and focused on the task he had set out for himself. Like he was finally achieving something he’d been hoping to do for a long time. Like he was righting a personal wrong. Like he was going to see this through.

_He might not be._

Arthur desperately looked around for help. To his left was the barricaded window, showing no signs of Charles or any other would-be rescuer trying to force their way through. To his right, Fordham stood at the door, making a point to look anywhere else than at Arthur and Ross. Almost as if he didn’t want to watch what was happening, but the terrifying thing was that he didn’t seem surprised.

_He’s watched Ross do this before._

“Hey!”

Well past the point of maintaining dignity in the face of adversity, everything that made Arthur the man that he was was shedding away in favor of pure animalistic _fear._ His legs flailed under Ross, desperate for any leverage he could manage, but failed to find any. Tears freely fell from his eyes as the edges of his vision yielded to an encroaching blackness.

_I’m dying._

His cuffed hands were useless behind him, too weak to push his torso up off the floor and mount any kind of defense. Was this really how he would finally meet his end? Strangled in a mysterious place, restrained by handcuffs he put on himself, in a trap he knowingly walked into and was warned about?

So much for being smart.

_I’m sorry, Al._

“Leave him alone!”

Ross suddenly lunged forward from Arthur’s perspective, though it was more accurate to say that he was tackled from behind. In either case, the agent bowled him over onto his side and the iron grip on Arthur’s throat was broken. After what felt like an eternity he was able to gasp the most appreciated lungfull of air in his life. As Bill caught a beating of his own for his intervention on the other side of the room, Arthur wretched and coughed with the left side of his face pressed against the ground as his lungs reacquainted themselves with oxygen. He did chance a look at Fordham, who was now looking down at Arthur with something akin to pity.

When Bill was sufficiently thrashed to Ross’ satisfaction and likewise coughing just as raggedly as Arthur was, the senior agent leveled a stare at the younger one.

“So you were just gonna let him get up?,” he snapped. Fordham tilted his head down in deference.

“Apologies, sir.”

Ross regarded his counterpart for a moment before looking down at his hands with disgust, then back over to Arthur who was still lying on his side, recovering from the encounter.

“You got spit on my gloves.” 

A final stomp to Arthur’s exposed right flank resulted in his body curling into itself and making yet more sounds he didn’t recognize.

“Let the boys know they can have their fun now,” Ross commented dismissively to Fordham.

Arthur could scarcely process anything beyond the pain and compromised state of his lungs, but he gathered that Ross and Fordham left the room, however temporarily. All he could really focus on was Bill across the way, trying his best to manage his own fitful coughs that sounded considerably deeper and wetter in comparison.

“You alright, Morgan?,” he finally managed.

He wasn’t, but he nodded anyway, ignoring the newfound pain in his neck muscles.

Their interlude from violence was short-lived as five new men entered the room. Too well-dressed to be Murfrees, but clearly not Pinkertons either. The eager maliciousness in their eyes was palpable however and threatened to feed off each other. One of them playfully nudged Bill’s foot and everyone in the room saw how he flinched at the benign gesture. Arthur knew not to expect anything good from this. 

His view of his friend was obscured as one of these new men squatted down in front of Arthur and studied him up close for a moment before speaking.

“Did you know Deputy Christopher Lewis?” There was no right answer to this question that would placate the man, but Arthur could at least try to delay the inevitable.

“Maybe. Where’s he from?” It was the first time he had spoken since Ross’ attempt on his life. His voice sounded uncharacteristically raspy, something closer to John’s default tone.

“He was stationed out of Flatneck, looked over the Heartlands. He was killed during a train robbery _your_ gang carried out.”

There was only one train robbery they had ever carried out near that part of the country. He already regretted that night for a few reasons; why shouldn't he add one more to the list?

“I was there that night,” Arthur admitted.

The man frowned and removed an old photograph from inside his vest and held it in front of Arthur’s face.

“Did you kill him? Did you kill my brother?” Arthur looked at the photograph. It depicted a clean-shaven man standing at attention and wearing a coat that proudly displayed a deputy’s star on the front. It was a wholly unremarkable picture of a forgetful man, the kind of man that Arthur once would’ve felled with unnatural ease.

“Maybe. I can’t remember.”

That was definitely the wrong answer. Arthur received a right hook across his jaw for answering the question as truthfully as he could. A chorus of chuckles broke out among the other four men in the room.

“Hey, let’s bring that old hag out here to watch,” one of them suggested and was met with a round of agreement.

_Old hag?_

The off-handed comment gave Arthur a momentary distraction from the second punch to his gut, and he tried to focus on that instead. He watched one of the ‘volunteers’ disappear into a separate room off of this one that Arthur up to this point hadn’t noticed.

_They’re keepin’ an old woman in a place like this? Why the hell…_

It dawned on him just before he heard her voice.

“Get your damn hands off me, you animal!” Even muffled through a wall he recognized that particular scolding timbre.

Arthur’s assailant stopped and also stood up to look at the side door just in time to catch Susan Grimshaw get manhandled into the room. It was the worst she’d ever looked; hair disheveled and gray and unwashed with filthy torn clothes to match. Her skin was pale from lack of sunlight and taut with malnourishment. She still had her defiance however, and her face almost dared to brighten at the sight of Arthur.

“Is that…? _Mister Morgan?”_ A relieved smile grew across her face and she continued at her captors, “Oh, you sons a bitches have _really_ done it now. He’s gonna kill the lot of you, ain’t you Arthur?”

He wished he could have had even a sliver of her confidence in that moment. Instead, he merely swallowed and locked eyes with his fellow gang veteran, silently pleading with her not to make this worse than it was already going to be.

Her smile began to falter. “Ain’t ya, Arthur?” He frowned.

“Maybe it’s best we kept quiet, Miss Grimshaw,” he answered regretfully. Finally her expression fell to match his own and Arthur had to look away from her.

* * *

It was a tortuous affair.

One by one the volunteers took turns introducing themselves and their unfortunate connection to the gang. Introductions made with words and hands and feet.

The son of Malcom Watson, a Saint Denis lawman.

A hard slap across the face for the bank robbery.

The surviving brother of Jeffrey Davis, a Cornwall Kerosene guard.

A punch to the ribs for stealing an oil tank.

Another brother of a train guard, who Arthur was pretty certain was the one he killed to save Sean. He earned himself a strike to the temple for admitting to that one.

Things were a blur after that between Arthur being the new main attraction for the evening and Bill only occasionally being forced to join in on the fun. Even Miss Grimshaw wasn’t spared from the violence of pent-up frustration and grief finally given an outlet. And Arthur found it difficult to fault these men that he and his family had wronged all those years ago. In a sick way, he could almost justify it because he was a bad man.

Was.

Not all of the blame being laid at Arthur’s feet could be claimed by him, but enough of it could. And these were just five men; were one to round up all the families of people Arthur alone had killed, it would probably be enough to fill this building to capacity. But the man who had carried out those murders and crimes was effectively gone from this world. A younger version of himself would not recognize the present-day Arthur.

And that was largely due to the influence of one man.

Someone who had shown Arthur that a life outside of Dutch’s schemes and raging against a changing world was possible. Someone who found Arthur as a troubled soul buried beneath years of denial and pain and loss and sins and sins and <em>sins</em> yet <em>still</em> saw value underneath all that anyway; someone who dutifully worked at chipping that all away when he didn’t have to, day by day, one compassionate act after another until eventually all that remained of Arthur was a man finally willing to let himself be loved.

Somewhere between the first and the thousandth time Albert had told him that he was a good man, Arthur had begun to believe it.

And so Arthur focused on that source of joy over the protestations and warnings his body screamed in response to each new assault.

He remembered the way Albert got so focused behind the lens of his camera, how Arthur could still to this day startle him into jumping ten feet in the air if he was sneaky enough.

He ignored the shout of “KILLER” as a stranger’s spit flecked across his face.

He remembered all the gallery showings where Albert had proudly introduced him as, “the assistant that made this all possible.”

He ignored the crippling blow of a wooden plank brought down against his shins.

He remembered the ridiculous high-pitched voice Albert used only when speaking to Penny, intended to get a laugh out of Arthur and how it worked every time.

He ignored the foot on his cheek, pressing his face into the floor.

He remembered the way Albert beamed with pride the first time he caught dinner with his new fishing rod all by himself using the skills Arthur had taught him.

He ignored the belt that whipped at his back.

He remembered all the times Albert had told him, “You are a good man.”

He ignored the curses slung at him.

He remembered as many different, “I love you”s as he could.

He ignored the blood.

He remembered.

He ignored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was like *gives another spin on Ye Olde American Male Name Generator*
> 
> Remember that in Summer of ‘99, the fishing trip with Jack and Milton’s ‘visit’ to the Clemens Point camp never happened; this is the first time Arthur and Ross met face-to-face in this iteration. Regarding Fordham, not sure if it landed but I wanted to give the impression that he was newer to the agency, and thus didn’t have any personal history or ill-will towards the Van der Linde gang because he wasn’t around for all of that; he’s just kinda doing his job. (I also regret to inform you that younger Archer Fordham, as depicted in the RDR2 end credits… could get it. (That chin tho!))
> 
> Shorter chapter here, I felt this one and the next three would be better served as shorter entries because we’ll be jumping back and forth between two separate and isolated incidents. Or at least I say that now, let’s see how that turns out…


	16. “You’re not as good at this game…”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert visits Milton. Alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three updates in one week? It’s more likely than you think. (It’s actually not, I don’t know how this happened.)
> 
> I banged this one out in /two days/. Another short one, as promised, so I’ll put it up now. Has this completely derailed my intended posting schedule? Most definitely, but it’s too late now, so here we go!
> 
> This chapter picks up the same evening as we left off with Arthur, but in a completely different part of the country.
> 
> _UPDATE- This chapter was updated for minor edits on 12/12/2020_

_It’s not that big of a deal._

Satisfied with how the piece of stale bread was affixed to the lure - it was the only thing he had on him for bait - Albert cast his line out into the river. Not so far as to land on the other side, but far enough to land where there seemed to be activity under the surface.

_I’m not really being hypocritical._

It had been some time since he’d fished this spot where the Upper Montana fed into Flat Iron Lake, north of Blackwater. To his right, the sun was quickly slipping behind the distant Grizzlies.

_I mean, we said what we said, but…_

Behind him, Penny was grazing on the sparse vegetation that the muddy river bank afforded, not too far from the small fire Albert set up a few minutes earlier. It wasn’t worth pushing her further through the night just to get into town; she deserved a rest after being stuffed into a livestock car for most of the day.

_It’s not like it’ll be the end of the world if I don’t tell him._

A tug on his line signaled a bite and he was quietly thankful for it as he yanked back to secure the hook. His books always mentioned that some larger species of fish preferred to come out at night, but he had no interest in fishing in the dark, alone and on an empty and demanding stomach.

_And I bet he’s still sitting on some secrets of his own._

A short battle later and he easily reeled in a small rock bass. Certainly sufficient for one person. He quickly got to work with his knife - which was beginning to dull from overuse, he curiously noted - and collapsed his rod for safekeeping.

_He’d just laugh at me if he found out, anyway._

He sat down by the fire and began cooking the prepared fish fillet over it as he dwelled on the ironic secret that was occupying his mind.

Which was that Albert did not particularly care for the taste of fish.

It was _fine,_ he could agree to that, it just… wouldn’t be his first choice, given the option. He found that chicken and pork lent themselves over to absorbing the flavors of seasonings much more readily than fish did, and without the ever-present saltiness.

But Arthur always seemed to enjoy his cooked fish and it was much easier and cheaper to head down to the river with a rod and come back with dinner than tending to and slaughtering livestock. Albert couldn’t stand the thought of cornering and killing a frightened animal he raised himself just for sustenance. And he’d be lying if he denied enjoying the actual act of fishing itself; the patience, the technique, the challenge and reward of it all. It suited him.

And so he fished, to provide for himself and his loved ones, to afford himself a feeling of contributing to the household; it wasn’t as if he’d be going out into the woods behind their house and coming back with a deer himself. He would just keep this private preference to himself and hoped Arthur would never find out.

Over his spartan meal that was just… _fine,_ Albert checked his Volcanic pistol for the twentieth time since stepping off the train at Riggs Station. Still fully loaded, with eight bullets. He was struggling to remember the last time he even fired it, but after the past month or so he’d been through, he was happy to have it by his side.

 _Can’t believe I used to camp by myself out in the woods. I didn’t even have a_ knife _back then._

“Just you and me, old girl. Like the good ol’ days, remember?” Penny swished her tail indifferently, more interested in a bush she had half her head stuck into.

Firearm safely tucked away and his meal completed, Albert wiped his hands on his pants and took out his journal, intending to write in it before kicking the fire out to turn in for the evening. He opened it to the next available blank page, removed the pencil from the gap in the spine, wrote the date and…

Sat there.

_I don’t know how he does this._

It was more accurate to call the small book in his hands a ledger or a glorified notepad for reminders of what to pick up every time he ran into town. The more intimate entries where he reflected on his own thoughts were few and far between. Albert could prattle on to a complete stranger about any topic with the best of them, but in the absence of an audience, he struggled with introspection. Meanwhile Arthur could sit out on the front porch for hours some days, pouring words and sketched scenes from memory into graphite, and Albert was always slightly jealous of that.

_I wonder what he’s doing right now._

He thought back on their goodbye that morning in the hotel room, tender and heartfelt, unlike anything they could safely display in public. It was always like that, like the couple was actually four different people instead of two, but Albert didn’t mind living behind closed doors so long as he got to live at all. It had taken over two decades for him to accept the kind of man that he was, but when he did he cautiously wrote off any expectation of a long-term partner and the satisfaction he knew that would bring him. Such arrangements were impossible to maintain after all.

Or so he had thought.

Instead, a partner had found _him,_ and tore down all the rules Albert had imposed on himself. And somehow after an arduous and difficult path, they had built a life together that a younger Albert would not have even dared to let himself dream of for fear of it being unattainable. It was why Albert knew he would do anything to protect Arthur, to protect what they had, whether it be shooting at Mercer Boys in the dark or willingly walking into Del Lobo territory or a Pinkerton office or even a run-down cellar or-

_I can’t believe I actually went into that cellar blind like that._

A thought occurred to Albert. He quickly jotted it down and closed the book. He rolled out his bedroll and extinguished the fire, intending to get as much rest as he could before the following day. 

* * *

_9/24/1904_

_-Meet with Milton_

_-Buy a lantern_

* * *

"Good morning, Mister Mason!”

Albert looked up from Penny’s lead that he was securing to a hitch on the side of the last building of Blackwater’s main avenue. He caught sight of one of the town’s regulars and waved back.

Hoping he was pulling the correct name from his memory, “Hello, good morning, Mister Geddy! Are you well?”

“I am!,” the aged man beamed back. “What of you? Haven’t seen you in town for a bit.”

Satisfied Penny wasn’t going anywhere, Albert turned to face his conversational partner. “I’ve been away on business, working on a new project.”

“Oh? Sounds like you’ve been keeping busy; I’m looking forward to it. Well I’ll let you be, welcome back.” He offered a polite wave and carried on about his business.

“Thank you, sir,” Albert replied, tipping his hat before trying to go to the barber shop.

 _‘Try’_ being the operative word, as no fewer than three other people stopped to greet him on his short walk to the business. Despite officially living two hours away on the edge of Tall Trees, Albert often found himself in the up-and-coming town that liked to pretend it was more important than it was. He became something of a local celebrity in the intervening years since moving to this part of the country. People were more interested in attaching themselves to his clout than his actual conservation efforts, of course, but it was still nice to be liked.

After excusing himself from an encounter with the wife of a local banker, Albert passed the glass windows that read “Henry Wilton” and entered the barbershop through the front door, signaling a bell overhead. The eponymous owner looked up from his current client, seated in one of the high leather chairs.

“Oh, Mister Mason! I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

Waving an apologetic hand and removing his hat, “There’s no rush, please, take your time.” Albert stood by the register to the right and waited dutifully as Henry finished up with the woman in his chair. The only other person in the room was another man, seated by the door and indifferently reading a newspaper. Albert had seen his face around town before, but could not remember his name.

“How does it look, dear?” Both Albert and the unnamed man looked to the woman who was now standing out of the chair with a lovely hairdressing featuring a single, prominent curl.

The man, presumably her husband, huffed. “Same as when you walked in.”

Understandably, the woman looked scandalized and curtly thanked Henry before exiting and walking down the street, not bothering to wait for her partner. The man rolled his eyes and stood up from the chair to pay at the register. During the transaction, he caught Albert’s eye casually.

 _“Women;_ can’t live without ‘em, right?”

Albert forced a polite and awkward chuckle but kept his opinions on the matter to himself.

Shortly afterwards, he was alone with Henry in the shop, who began sweeping up the trimmings from his previous client. “Step right up, I can take you now.” Albert fidgeted with the hat in his hands and tried looking into the hallway behind the register.

“I’m actually supposed to meet someone here, strange as that may sound. A Pinkerton agent named Milton?,” he tried.

Henry didn’t flinch at the question. “Andrew? Not strange at all, he’s a good friend of mine. He mentioned someone might stop by for him today, I just wasn’t expecting it to be one of my regular customers!”

Albert smiled politely but pressed on, “Where is he now?” Henry bent down to sweep the pile into a dustpan.

“He left early this morning, mentioning something about an appointment relating to his work. I didn’t ask, but he’ll be back sometime today,” he said as he dumped the mess into a wastebin.

“I see…” Albert took out his pocket watch for a quick glance - _9:52 AM_ \- before tucking it away again. “Perhaps I should try again later.”

Henry set the broom against the far wall and gestured at the now-empty leather chairs. “Well while you’re here, how about a trim and a shave?” Albert caught his reflection in the large mirrors, hair looking unusually unruly now that it was no longer hiding under his hat. The past month away from home hadn’t been kind to his neckline either.

“I am overdue, I suppose. Why not?”

“Just the usual then? Or could I also interest you in some coloring dyes?”

Confused, Albert asked, “Whatever for?” Henry took on an awkward demeanor.

“For the, um… the grays,” he said, gesturing at Albert’s beard. The photographer clenched his jaw shut and replied curtly.

“They’re not that noticeable. I’ll just have the normal treatment done today.” Henry wisely backed off the touchy subject and motioned for his client to take a seat.

He settled into the comfortable and familiar chair closer to the register that he preferred and of course Henry immediately draped a cloak over his front and launched into a conversation as he got to work. Albert chose to be reserved in his responses to the inevitable, ‘where have you been’-type questions and instead tried steering the topics towards the notable going-ons of Blackwater that he’d missed. Henry was about to discuss the Founder’s Day celebrations that apparently happened three weeks back when the door opened again. Through the mirror, Albert and Milton locked eyes.

“Mister Mason! Glad to see you made it,” the Pinkerton said with an uncharacteristic upbeat attitude.

_He must’ve gotten good news._

“That I did,” Albert replied. “How was your meeting?”

“It went well,” was all he offered. He stood behind the adjacent chair and nodded at Henry, who hadn’t stopped working with his scissors, but said nothing more.

“Would you… like to go somewhere to discuss it when I’m done here?,” Albert prompted. Milton shook his head gently.

“No, I think we can talk about it now. I trust Henry.”

“Well I’m not going anywhere, I’m all ears.”

Milton smiled strangely at that, but then calmly went back to the front door and locked it, flipping the “OPEN” sign to “CLOSED” for good measure.

_Seems a touch excessive._

“I wanted to talk about you first however,” Milton said as he approached the counter in front of the mirror. He opened a briefcase lying on it that Albert hadn’t noticed up to this point, and rummaged through it before turning back to the photographer. “If you don’t mind.”

“I’m... not sure what else there is to know about me that you don’t already know.”

“I was just curious about your connection to Mister Bell. Remind me, you mentioned a friend who was killed in the Strawberry Massacre of ‘99?”

Unsure of where this was going, Albert simply replied, “Yes?...”

Milton rested the small of his back against the counter, folded his hands around a notepad in front of him and raised his chin. “What was his name again?”

Albert felt a horrible discomfort as he realized he’d forgotten the name he’d made up.

Lying again, “I don’t believe I ever gave it.”

“You did. During our first meeting. Don’t you remember?” Hesitation would serve him no favors, so Albert went with the first name he could pull out of his head.

“His name was Eric.” Milton frowned and looked down at his notepad.

“Really? I have here in my notes that you told me it was ‘Jason.’”

A confused pause, then, “I must have misspoke.”

“I see... What I find fascinating about that is that I was able to dig up an old article from the Blackwater Ledger detailing that horrible event.”

Albert began nervously cracking his knuckles in his lap under the cloak.

“Were you now?” Milton twisted in place and removed a newspaper clipping that he held in front of Albert.

“I have it right here. Twelve men and a woman died. Yet none of them were named ‘Jason’ _or_ ‘Eric.’”

Albert wet his lips and said, “I believe it was a middle name he preferred to go by.”

“I see…,” Milton repeated, but he tucked the newspaper clipping back into the briefcase before digging around in it for something else. “I also did a little digging into your own background. To protect myself, you understand. I found that you sold yourself short to me, Mister Mason. You’re no mere portrait photographer, you are one of the foremost naturalists in the country!”

Albert silently cursed himself for giving his real name during that first meeting in the Pinkerton office.

“It’s more of a side hobby, certainly doesn’t pay the bills,” he deflected humbly. Henry had set aside the scissors at this point and began working a lather with some shaving cream that he began applying to Albert’s neck and upper cheeks. Curiously, the barber had had no reaction to this conversation at all.

“Hosting multiple gallery exhibitions must bring in _some_ revenue though.”

“I must contest, I think you are _over_ -selling me.” Milton apparently found what he was looking for and set aside a piece of paper on top of the pile of contents, but Albert couldn’t see what it was from where he was seated. Instead, Milton turned to face him again.

“That may be, but your work is nothing short of impressive. I learned of your first exhibition, hosted at the Galerie Laurent in my own home town of Saint Denis. Funny how this week was the first time I ever set foot in the place only a few blocks away from where I work.”

“Quite,” Albert concurred. Without a second thought, he dutifully raised his chin so Henry could begin working the straight razor as he had done dozens of times before over the years.

“But your exhibition in ‘99 was eye-opening. I particularly liked your portrait of an ‘unknown outdoorsman.’”

The cloak draped over him did a fantastic job of concealing how tightly Albert’s hands were gripping the armrests of the chair.

Trying to maintain a steady voice, “I confess, it’s been a long time since I’ve looked back on those earlier works.”

“Oh don’t worry, Monsieur Laurent was able to give me a copy. Here, let me refresh your memory.” He reached into his briefcase and picked up the document he had set aside at the top.

He knew it was coming, but it still stole his breath away.

Milton held before Albert a smaller photograph of his original photograph that he chose to display at his first gallery showing. Even this secondhand rendition was still quintessentially _Arthur_ in its depiction as Albert had found him in the woods that fateful day now so long ago. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say that Arthur had found _him,_ but there was no denying that the deeply personal subject matter was having a visceral reaction on Albert, who was failing to hide it.

“Where is he?”

Albert looked from the photo to Milton, then back again.

“I have no idea.”

Milton frowned and turned his back to set the picture aside in the briefcase.

“Let’s try this again.”

Henry had at some point migrated to stand behind Albert without his noticing. It was hard not to notice the razor now being held dangerously tight to his adam’s apple however.

Milton closed the briefcase and when he turned back around to face Albert, he mirrored his earlier relaxed pose, only holding a revolver instead of a notepad this time.

“Where is Arthur Morgan?”

Albert looked into the mirror and locked eyes with Henry standing behind him, who had a mean, unrecognizable expression on his face.

Darting his eyes back to Milton, “He’s making me do this. I don’t want to.” The Pinkerton slowly shook his head and had the nerve to appear pitied.

“You’re not as good at this game as you think you are. Haven’t been from the start.”

“You have to believe me!,” Albert pleaded desperately.

“Explain to me then why you have his favorite gun?,” Milton asked casually.

There was no lie in the world convincing enough to escape this. And even if Albert attempted some act of heroism with the subject gun at his right side, he’d earn either a bullet in the chest or a slit throat in return. He’d let himself be lured into a setup.

_I should’ve stayed in Saint Denis._

Signaling defeat, he asked, “You recognized it?”

Milton shook his head again. “Not initially. I had to ask some of the more seasoned agents, but they soon confirmed my suspicions.”

Trying every last trick in the book, “You are very good at your job, agent.” Milton narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t having it.

“It’s too late for flattery. I’ll ask you again: _where_ is Arthur Morgan?”

“At this exact moment? I honestly don’t know.”

Milton looked down at his revolver and opened the chamber, casually and pensively spinning it in place, checking the bullets. After several seconds, he snapped it shut and straightened his posture.

“Very well. Then we will have him come here, to _us.”_

“How?”

Milton reached inside his coat and removed a pair of handcuffs and Albert’s stomach dropped at the sight of them. “I am apprehending you and placing you under Pinkerton custody for colluding with a wanted criminal.”

“Then what, turning me in to the sheriff? You don’t have any proof,” he spat frantically. Milton gave him a sickening grin that sapped him of defiance.

“Who said anything about the sheriff?” He leaned closer for effect, “Mister Mason, don’t tell me you were expecting to leave this building today.”

Albert looked back into the mirror at Milton’s accomplice with confusion. “Henry, _why are you doing this?_ Why are you helping him?” The barber looked at Milton before speaking.

With a lazy hand gesture, “Tell him.” Henry reaffirmed his grip on the razor’s handle and scowled into the mirror.

“My brother Thomas was a lawman here in town. He was killed by the Van der Lindes during the Blackwater Massacre and _no one_ ever did anything about it. Milton’s the only one who’s gonna make those bastards pay. I’m real sorry you got wrapped up in this, but you should’ve stayed away from that man.”

Milton circled around to Albert’s right and removed the Volcanic pistol from his holster without resistance.

“And for the record,” he said to Albert as he was doing it, “It was the fact that you wanted me to locate a dead man that tipped me off about you. You should have picked a better lie. Get up.”

With a razor threatening his jugular and now two guns that could be pointed at him, Albert didn’t see a choice. He rose from the seat, letting the cloak fall to the floor. Before he knew what was happening, he was thrust forward into the counter at the mirror and Milton quickly manhandled his arms behind him and into the handcuffs.

“How do you know he’s dead?” _Might as well get as much out of him as I can._

Henry hurriedly ran to open a door coming off the back hallway behind the register that led directly into an ascending staircase. Milton guided Albert to walk up it with his own revolver, but still answered when he didn’t have to. “Because I had the body dumped into the Upper Montana. You wanna know where he is so badly? Micah Bell is at the bottom of Flat Iron Lake. It’s the rest of them I’m trying to find now.”

“Why those five?” He reached the top of the staircase and was directed to the right, down another hallway that led to another flight of stairs going even higher up into the building.

Genuine malice and emotion bled into Milton’s voice as he began explaining. “Because they were at Horseshoe Overlook. The first raid I was given authority to conduct on my own. The first raid I lost men because of my decisions. Nathan Adair, Louis Welles, Hal Baker, Mitchell Pierce, and Frank Wade _died_ that night. Because of my orders. Because of those _outlaws._ That’s five families I had to deliver the news to. Five funerals _I couldn’t even attend_ because I was too busy chasing those animals across Lemoyne. The Van der Lindes took five men from me? I’ll gladly take five of their lives.”

The three of them reached the top floor and Milton roughly shoved Albert towards an out-of-place and unusually sturdy-looking metal door that Henry scrambled to unlock. 

“This is corrective justice. I only wish I could have done this sooner,” Milton concluded. Henry finished inputting the combination and pulled the lever to open it. Albert fully expected to find the interior of a bank vault on the other side, but only found a small, musty-smelling bedroom of sorts that he was promptly shoved into. He managed to remain on his feet and wheeled around.

“Arthur wasn’t there that night though!,” was all he could manage. Milton regarded him with disgust.

“Yet you’re so willing to throw the others aside. Your preference for protecting Mister Morgan has already been noted. I have no doubt that you will make for an excellent bargaining piece once he comes crawling out of hiding to look for you. Assuming he does, that is,” he tacked on at the end with a sneer.

“You can’t keep me here!,” Albert shouted as panic began to set in. Henry did not shy away when Albert searched his face for anything. All he saw in the man was conviction.

“I think you’ll find that we can. I’d advise you to get comfortable, Mister Mason. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a train to catch.”

He lunged, but the door was still slammed shut on his face.

_“NO!”_

Knowing it wouldn’t amount to anything, Albert frantically kicked at the metal door and even attempted throwing his good shoulder against it, but predictably, it did not so much as budge.

“HENRY, _PLEASE!”_

Silence. Complete and terrifying silence was all that met Albert’s cries. Not even the sounds of their footsteps descending back down the stairs carried through the immovable door.

He pivoted in place and rested his back against the featureless slab of metal that confined him and slid down to the floor. Now taking in the room properly, it appeared to be some sort of repurposed attic compartment, hardly more than fifty square feet. The only noteworthy features were a small window for ventilation, with iron bars over it that was too high off the floor to afford a view outside, and an unmade and messy bed. Not even a source of light for when nightfall would inevitably come.

Albert’s mind quickly got to work against itself, concocting as many worst-case scenarios as it could manage.

_I’m going to starve to death in this room. Or maybe my wrists will get infected around these cuffs and I’ll die before Arthur can save me. Will he save me? Can he? If he comes here, Milton will surely have enough men to apprehend or even kill him. He shouldn’t walk into a trap._

_Not like I did._

Then, a more worrisome thought.

_What if he doesn’t come for me?_

Slumped against the floor, Albert hung his head, letting stray hair clippings and residual shaving cream fall down into his lap and onto his clothes. There was nothing for it. Instead, his breathing quickened from panic and the realization that he was trapped and utterly at the mercy of people who did not care for his well-being, that would only use him as a pawn in a larger game against the people he most cared for.

The only thing that stopped him from falling into a full-blown panic attack was a timid voice that came from underneath the bed frame.

_“......Uncle Albert?...”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The author has chosen not to provide end notes for the drama of it all.


	17. Interrogation Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ross tries and fails to get information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular posting schedule? *puts on sunglasses* I don’t know her.
> 
> I rushed too quickly in uploading the last chapter and completely forgot to add a (brief and unimportant) interaction between Albert and Henry at the very beginning before Milton showed up, so I added it after the fact. It’s literally just four lines before he sits in the barber’s chair, and solely for my own amusement, but that could be said of this whole work, couldn’t it?
> 
> I had Woody Jackson’s “The Disaster” playing in the background on loop when writing this chapter if you wanna know the general vibe I was going for.
> 
> This chapter picks up earlier in the morning of the same day we left off, again in another part of the country (imagine this is happening a little before and then concurrently with the barber shop scene).
> 
> _UPDATE- This chapter was updated for minor edits on 12/12/2020_

Sleep, or the closest approximation to it that Arthur’s body would allow, did not come easily. It was fitful as what felt like a hundred different injuries screamed out for attention, like a constellation of pain spread across his limbs and torso. And that was to say nothing of the half-dreams and imaginary attacks his body occasionally jerked away from. He’d slept rough before, plenty of times in fact, but this was something wholly different.

The door being slammed open didn’t help much either.

Instinctually, Arthur and Bill both flinched awake to see one of their assailants from earlier grin at them in the doorway.

“Rise an’ shine, boys! Sleep well?,” the man joked. Neither Arthur nor Bill spoke for fear of earning yet more punishment and opted to avoid eye contact with him altogether. Sensing that no smart remarks were coming from the two captives, the man tore a roll of bread in half and tossed two halves into the room, letting them land on the messy and splintered floor. “Here, on the house. Gotta keep your strength up; Milton won’t be here for another day yet,” he chuckled as he closed and locked the door behind him before mercifully left the two men alone.

Arthur didn’t know how the hell he was expected to eat with both his arms tied behind his back, but Bill had no such hesitation, likely because he had to figure it out the day before. He scrunched his ass forward on the ground, laid on his side and unceremoniously bit into one of the halves before getting back into position slumped against the opposite wall. Arthur watched in disgust as Bill had to tilt his head back so as to not lose his balance on the food he could only hold onto with his lips; half because Bill was always a messy eater and half because he knew he was going to have to do the same thing.

When he swallowed the remainder of the bread and managed to get almost half of it trapped in his beard, Bill looked to the other half, then to Arthur.

“You gonna eat that?”

Arthur sighed.

 _“Yeah…,”_ he rasped, not seeing the point in starving himself just to spite his captors; he’d need his strength if something happened today.

Mirroring Bill’s technique, albeit much more slowly on account of his body’s silent protestations, Arthur managed to eat his ‘breakfast’ without a shred of dignity. The only one to watch was Bill, however, and he had a feeling neither of them would ever speak of what happened in this room again once they got out.

If they got out.

_Somethin’ musta happened with Charles._

Arthur had played his part in the plan, and found the place where Bill was taken to. Charles shouldn’t have been far behind, he probably even watched that whole initial exchange with Fordham from a safe hiding spot. Maybe there were a lot more ‘volunteers’ outside this building that Arthur didn’t know about; he _was_ wearing a sack over his head when Fordham brought him in after all. Perhaps Charles saw too many guards and had to wait, or fall back and come up with a different approach.

_Or maybe he’s just not coming._

From Charles’ perspective, two of the five names on his own list were now in Pinkerton custody, and he knew John was on his way to turn himself in. Maybe Charles let John go on purpose then? He’d only have to deal with Javier at that point, but he _had_ to realize by now Milton’s deal wasn’t real.

Or was it?

_“Hey. Morgan.”_

Bill’s whispers across the way pulled Arthur out of the doubts swirling in his mind. He wasn’t in the mood for any conversations right now, but it wasn’t like he was doing anything else, and it beat thinking that Charles had betrayed him.

“Yeah, Bill?,” he answered back with closed eyes. Bill paused, taking several seconds to clear his throat.

“Your guy. Albert… you love him, right?”

Arthur opened his eyes to look at the man on the other side of the room.

 _Where on earth is_ this _going?_

With his hands behind his back, Arthur discretely felt for his wedding band and was relieved to find it still there. At least none of the men he’d wronged were smart enough to rob him.

“I do.” Bill fidgeted in place, struggling to think of what to say next.

“You ever feel like you don’t say it enough?” Arthur couldn’t help drawing his brows together as he scrutinized his friend over the distance between them. He felt strangely defensive, and kept his voice low when he answered.

“I don’t gotta say it all the time, he knows. Why’re you askin’?”

Bill pulled his legs toward him to sit cross-legged against the wall and stifled a singular, deep cough. In the brief silence, Arthur recognized for the first time since waking up the sounds of heavy raindrops hitting the roof of the building they were in. He wondered if that was having an effect on Bill’s lungs.

Also keeping his volume down, “It’s just… this is one of those times where I wish I’d said it more to Nate... you know?” Arthur nodded weakly.

_He thinks he’s gonna die in here._

“I think he knows. Hell, he was worried sick about you when I last saw him.”

It took a second to register, but when it did, Bill’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You saw Nate?”

Nodding again, “Back in the city. Had to talk him outta buying a gun to come break you out himself. Told him I’d do it.” Bill’s face quickly turned from awe to confusion.

“He was gonna come for me?... Wait, what do you mean ‘do it yourself?’”

Arthur glanced at the door to make sure it was closed before replying, beaten and in handcuffs, “I’m here to rescue your dumb ass, can’t you tell?” Bill failed to find the humor in it.

“Thought you came to talk to Milton?,” he asked.

“That was just a cover to fool these bastards,” he explained, jerking his head toward the door. Bill looked at the ground and huffed, as if that possibility was only just now occurring to him.

“Well _I_ bought it…”

_That ain’t sayin’ much…_

“But what happened with you?,” Arthur continued. “Nate mentioned something about Javier.” Bill’s face instantly dropped into a scowl at the mention of their mutual friend.

“That lyin’ bastard tricked me!,” he snarled. “Sent a letter to Nate’s sayin’ he wanted to meet up, put the past behind us. Told me to meet him at Dutch’s spot, only he didn’t show up.”

“But Fordham did?,” Arthur guessed.

“Him, Ross, and a whole bunch of the rest of ‘em; I was outnumbered.”

That didn’t sound anything like what Arthur had found at Dutch’s grave yesterday. Sure, he was apprehended by Fordham, but he was the only one out there to collect Arthur. Bill’s situation sounded more like it was anticipated, like they were waiting for him.

Arthur began with, “Maybe…,” but no further words came. And without Javier there to defend himself, it did seem to be a pretty damning situation.

“He set me up, Morgan. Ain’t no other way to look at it,” Bill growled with a hushed voice. Arthur looked at the ground as he tried to make sense of this new information.

“I ran into him a few days back in Rhodes. He tried gettin’ me to come out this way with him but wouldn’t say why. He took off once Al showed up.”

“Bet you he was tryin’ to turn you in, too,” Bill suggested bitterly before he threw his head back to rest against the wall. “Don’t matter much now though, I guess...”

Arthur stole another quick look at the door before leaning forward - learning of new aches on the small of his back in doing so - and whispering, “Hey, we’ll get outta here, alright? Just gotta hang tight for Charles. He followed me here.” Bill snapped his eyes down to meet Arthur’s and looked worried.

 _“Charles?_ He ain’t gonna risk his hide for _me.”_

Sensing an opportunity to finally get to the bottom of something he could never drag out of Charles, Arthur asked, “What _is_ it with you two? You _never_ got along.” Bill needed another few seconds to clear his throat again, and used that time to think of where to begin.

“We had a fight… _long_ time ago, back when he first joined up with us. Look, when I was in the army, I… I _saw_ things that his people did. Things I ain’t never wanna see again... So I got him alone one night and warned him not to try any funny business with us.”

“I take it he didn’t care for that.”

“Threw my big ass on the ground and held a knife to my throat is what he did.”

“That _did_ seem to happen to you a lot,” Arthur joked. “Feel like I’m the only one who didn’t get the chance.”

“Shut up,” Bill spat, but there was no real bite to it and there might have even been a trace of a smile there before he continued. “Didn’t help that I was jealous of him... Three days he was with us and people already liked him more than me.”

Shrugging nonchalantly - despite a newly-bruised shoulder - Arthur just said, “Charles is a friendly guy. _You_ were a mean son of a bitch, but you were still part of the gang.” Bill shook his head dismissively.

“Only one who wanted me there was Dutch ’cus I knew how to shoot a gun and not ask questions.”

“Now that ain’t true-“

“Then who else? Who else _wanted_ me around?,” Bill interrupted. Arthur gestured to keep their voices down, best as he could with his aching arms stuck behind his back.

Knowing full well what kind of reaction it would garner, he offered, “You and Javier were tight towards the end.”

Bill spat on the ground to his right at the name. “Yeah, look where _that_ got me…”

Trying again, _“I_ wanted you around.”

“No you didn’t, you’re just sayin’ that.”

He jerked his chin up and said, “I took you to steal that tank from Cornwall, didn’t I?”

“Only ‘cus Dutch made you,” Bill pointed out. And it was true; Bill was only there on that job that day to act as his chaperone and make sure he didn’t run off on the gang again.

He did run off anyway, but that was beside the point.

“Maybe. Still glad I did though. And I want you around _now_. Least that new, mellowed out version of you I met back at Bonnie’s that first night.” Bill clenched and worked his jaw for a few moments before daring to meet Arthur’s eyes again.

“Really?,” he whispered.

“No, I just let myself get picked up by goddamned _Pinkertons_ to have a friendly chat with the guy who killed Hosea,” Arthur deadpanned. At least that managed to get a genuine chuckle out of Bill.

“Well… thanks…”

“Don’t mention it. And uh… thanks for steppin’ in yesterday. With Ross.”

Bill nodded and twisted his mouth. “That ain’t no way to go out. You woulda done the same.”

“Still, I’ll make it up to you. How ‘bout when all this is over we have you and Nate come visit our place? Al cooks the best goddamn fish I’ve ever had.”

Bill huffed again and said, “Sure, alright.” But then his expression fell to one of discomfort and he added, “I mean, if it’s alright with your guy, that is. He don’t seem to like me much.”

A familiar knot twisted in Arthur’s stomach. He knew he would probably end up talking to Bill about this at some point, he just had no idea it would ever be in the setting they were currently in.

Instead of brushing the comment aside, which would’ve been easier, he summoned up as much nerve as he could muster and tried to just power through the topic. “Al told me about you and him. That night in Valentine.” Bill paled.

“He did?... Look, Morgan, it was just one time-“

Arthur cut off the stream of apologies before it could begin. “I know- I _know._ That’s what Al told me, and I believe him. I ain’t… I ain’t mad at you, either of you. Let’s just stop dancin’ around it and move on, alright? ‘Sides, you got your own man to worry about now.”

Bill looked at him in disbelief before realizing his jaw was hanging open. “Yeah. Sure.” He then looked away at nothing in particular and continued, “Jesus, I could not believe it was _him_ of all people sittin’ next to you at that bar that night. I almost ran out the door when I saw him.” Arthur found that amusing.

“You that scared of chatty city folk like him? Now I know you ain’t, ‘cus Nate doesn’t shut up neither.”

Bill chuckled but said, “No, dummy, I was afraid of what _you’d_ do to me if you found out.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t do nothing. ‘Sides, I’ve been learning a lot about fellers like us lately, what it’s like. It’s all a little complicated to me still,” he admitted. Bill seemed to perk up at that however.

“Well what do you wanna know?”

Arthur thought about it, some of the bigger questions around this whole hidden culture he still was largely unfamiliar with, and settled on something. “Al had a… theory about all those boys workin’ on Bonnie’s Ranch…”

Finally, Bill gave him the closest thing to a genuine smirk all morning. “Could you not tell?”

Arthur’s next retort was seized in the back of his throat as they both heard footsteps walking up a flight of stairs. They both froze and fell silent as the doorknob rattled with a key being worked into it. When it opened, Ross entered the room, alone. He surveyed his two prisoners, then focused on Arthur with a look of feigned pity.

“What happened to you, Mister Morgan? You look _terrible.”_ He spoke with a level of insincerity that was almost impressive.

Arthur didn’t speak. He opted to let his icy glare do the talking for him. Ross got the message, but seemed indifferent.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here for you,” he dismissed, turning towards Bill. “It’s _you_ Mister Williamson, that I’m more interested in.”

Bill looked up at him with worry poorly masked behind defiance; it was hard to take him seriously when half his face was layered with bread crumbs. “Why’s that?”

“Where is Javier Escuella?,” Ross asked pointedly. Bill drew his brows together.

“I already told you I don’t know.”

“And _I_ already told you I don’t believe you,” Ross shot right back. Arthur stayed quiet and glanced to the door to his right. Ross had left it open, but curiously it didn’t seem like Fordham or any of the volunteers were posted just outside it.

“If I knew, I’d tell you, but I don’t!,” Bill stressed.

“You obviously trusted him enough to meet him in private, so you’re close enough to know where he would go next. He never showed up for your payout, so where would he be?”

“My payout? What are you-“ Ross backhanded the line of thought out of Bill’s mouth, but all he could offer was, “I don’t _know!”_

Dripping with menace, “Guess. Come up with an answer and make sure it’s an answer I’ll like.”

Whatever Bill was hoping to come up with as a response, he waited too long. It seemed Ross had an even shorter temper than the man he began wailing on with strike after strike that Bill was unable to defend against. Arthur watched in despair, but was all too aware of the gun holstered at Ross’ side and didn’t want to risk escalating the matter before he had to.

Finally Bill cried out, “Fort Mercer! He probably went back to Fort Mercer!” Ross yielded, and straightened his stance over Bill.

“All the way out in New Austin? Why?,” he sneered skeptically.

“Because that’s where his new gang is set up!”

“Bill!,” Arthur hissed. It was too loud however, loud enough for Ross to hear, and Arthur immediately earned his own gloved backhand.

Taking care to enunciate every word, Ross pointed a finger in Arthur’s face and said, “I am not speaking to you.” Then, slowly, he turned back towards Bill who was looking worse for wear and no longer able to fight back his coughs. “Why is this the first I’m hearing of Escuella being in a new gang?”

There was no good answer for that, but Bill tried anyway. “I don’t know, I only found out myself a few weeks back.”

Not good enough.

“I told you to give me an answer I would like.”

Ross’ attacks were precise, but there was no challenge or glory in beating a weakened and already injured man. Back in his prime, Bill could have snapped Ross’ neck with just his bare hands, and probably could have even put up a fight handcuffed like this, but years of being laid low by a crippling illness and yet more years of slow recovery had clearly taken their toll. Years of recovery that were seemingly being undone in real time. Arthur knew Bill was tougher than he looked, but this was getting to be too much.

He drew his battered legs underneath him and began to slowly rise, trying not to garner Ross’ attention, but stopped when the Pinkerton abruptly turned around, clutching at his face.

“My eyes! You spat in my eyes, you _animal!”_

Arthur looked up and sure enough, Ross was frantically wiping away at his face that looked like _he_ was the one that had taken a beating. But looking down across the way through his legs, Arthur could see the source. Bill had blood trickling out of his mouth, but it didn’t appear to be from a split lip. Even through the coughs that still rocked his chest, he still managed a smug look of victory at Ross’ back.

The Pinkerton growled and removed a fresh handkerchief from one of his pockets and began cleaning his face as best he could, which is to say not well at all. Before he could renew his assault however, new footsteps were rushing towards the door from the outer hallway. One of the volunteers peered into the room, looking frantic.

“Ross! Agent Ross!”

Turning his back so the newcomer wouldn’t see his face, Ross asked with blatant frustration, “What is it?”

“We got a problem. Out front.” One more thorough wipe and Ross tucked the bloodied handkerchief away and turned to face the man.

“Explain.”

“There’s- there’s a woman out front claiming to be a bounty hunter. She’s asking for these two,” gesturing at Arthur and Bill on the floor, “Says she’s been tracking them for days and they’re hers to turn in.”

Arthur wasn’t one to get his hopes up, but he did have a suspicion.

Ross contorted his face and said, “I’ve never heard of a woman bounty hunter… tell her to go away.”

“She’s got a gun pointed to Fordham’s head.”

_No, that’s definitely Sadie._

“That idiot…,” Ross muttered. He scowled down at Bill and said, “I’ll come back for you later. Think of a better answer,” before following the volunteer out of the room. He slammed the door shut, but seemingly forgot to lock it. Arthur let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

 _“Shit._ Bill, you alright?”

No longer having to maintain a facade of courage, Bill slumped in pain and shook his head, unable to form words through his coughs.

They didn’t have much time, and Arthur didn’t even really have a plan at all beyond getting out of this room, but he had to try something. For the first time since Fordham brought him to this place - however many hours ago that was - he tried to stand. Both of his legs cried out in unison under the new weight, specifically across the front of his shins where a board was repeatedly brought down on them the night before, but it wasn’t enough for him to buckle completely. Still, he had to lean his side against the wall to reacquaint himself with the fine art of walking upright.

It seemed they only had two options. To his right was the door they came in through, but he wasn’t sure where it led to other than more volunteers. Though hopefully Sadie’s distraction out front was sufficient enough to draw them all outside. To his left was the boarded up window that would have been easy enough to pry open if he had full use of both his hands, but the old dresser that was propped up against it was another complicating factor.

But then he remembered the other door next to the window that the men had pulled Miss Grimshaw out of.

He’d passed out before he saw what happened to her the previous night, but it was probably a safe assumption that she was put back in that same place. Arthur hobbled over to the door and kicked on it as loudly as he dared.

“Susan? Susan, it’s Arthur. You up?,” he hushed. He let out a sigh of relief as he heard footsteps and her voice come from the other side after a pause.

“Arthur? Yes, yes I’m in here! But the door’s locked from your side,” she whispered.

“Where’s the key?”

“I- I don’t know. I think they keep it in that room you’re in though, look around.”

He spun his back to the door and tried to ignore Bill’s uncontrolled fits on the floor as he scanned the room. There really wasn’t much in there with them besides some random pieces of debris that were used to strike Arthur the previous night, some old rags that were who knew how old and-

And the dresser.

Arthur ambled over to the dresser and had to turn away from it to feel blindly for the handles of the individual drawers. He managed to get the first drawer open and felt around inside it looking back over his shoulder when the door handle to the main door to the room rattled.

He froze. Even Bill managed to keep it together for a moment.

The door slid open just a crack.

Open just enough for the business end of a sawn-off shotgun to enter the room first. Not the kind of gun most people used.

“Charles?,” Arthur spoke at full volume.

A pause, then the door opened wide enough for them to see him. Charles was soaking wet with a nondescript bandana covering his face. He had the shotgun extended from his right hand and a bloodied knife in the left. Thankfully he didn’t appear to be injured, so it was likely not his own.

“Close the door,” Arthur hushed, gesturing for him to come in.

He did, and lowered his bandana as he did so. “Sorry I took so long.”

“We can be sorry later, gimme a hand here!” Charles crossed the room, sparing only a passing glance at Bill who had resumed his coughs, unable to hold them in for any longer.

“Here, gimme your hands.” Arthur complied and a few seconds later felt instant relief as the cuffs came off cleanly with a key Charles had produced.

Massaging his wrists, “Where’d you get that?”

“Sadie and I jumped a Pinkerton at Dutch’s spot this morning. He had it on him, figured it might be useful,” Charles explained.

“She’s out front right now?” Arthur asked the question as he immediately began searching around the dresser again. Charles seemed confused at that, but went over to help Bill out of his own handcuffs anyway.

“She is. Not sure how much longer she’ll be able to string them along though; we have to leave.”

“Hang on.” He finally opened the top-most drawer and found what had to be the key to the second room. He limped back over to the other door and opened it to a relieved-looking Miss Grimshaw who immediately fell into his arms.

“Arthur, what’s happening?”

“We’re gettin’ outta here, Susan, come on!,” he urged under his voice. She didn’t need telling twice and stepped out into their room, stopping at the sight of Charles.

“Mister Smith?” He nodded.

Letting some of his genuine surprise show, “Miss Grimshaw. It’s good to see you.”

“Sorry I never got that last letter to you… Aw, I’ll tell you later, get me the hell out of here first.”

“With pleasure,” he chuckled. “Here, Arthur.” He passed along a cheap cattleman revolver - Arthur didn’t have to think too hard about where he might have got it - before going back to the door to take point on their way out. Arthur pocketed the gun and took the time to duck and sling one of Bill’s arms over his shoulder, helping the larger man stand upright. When Charles motioned for them to follow, they finally left the room.

Immediately outside of the door Arthur could see for the first time an old, unused fireplace to his right and a closed door straight ahead, likely the one Fordham had brought him in through. To the left was a small landing with some chairs and playing cards scattered about, and a staircase that led downstairs. There was a trail of water soaked into the wooden planks coming from the steps, which explained why Charles stealthily descended back in that direction, leaving Arthur and Bill to follow after with Miss Grimshaw taking up the rear. At the bottom of the stairs was a ransacked kitchen and a fresh corpse on the ground with a knife wound near the neck. Arthur recognized the man’s face from the previous night, but forgot the name that went with it.

Taking care before exiting again, Charles pushed forward through another door with his shotgun that finally took them outside of the structure. A cold wind ran through the room as a view overlooking what had to be the Lannahechee River appeared. Satisfied that it was safe, Charles silently pressed on out through the door, motioning for the others to follow. There was an elevated deck above them so they wouldn’t get immediately wet in the pouring rain and Arthur was at least thankful for that. Closer, on the grounds around the rear of this building, were a few tents and another body on the ground that Charles likely didn’t have time to hide. He signaled for the other three to head right, and in the distance Arthur could make out several horses hitched by some trees, one of whom he recognized as Ivy.

_Fordham was good for his word. Lotta good it did him..._

Even over the rain and Bill’s intermittent coughs right next to him, Arthur could still hear voices coming from the front of the house, one of them too distinctly raspy and tenacious to be anyone other than Sadie Adler. He was grateful that she was here at all and that Charles wasn’t forced to carry out this insane rescue mission alone, but he’d be doing his friend no favors the longer they took. Arthur and Bill hobbled over to Brown Jack, and Charles helped get the sick man on top of his horse. Charles quickly mounted up on another random horse and Arthur was about to follow suit when he realized the revolver that he had tucked under his belt was no longer there.

“Eat lead, you sick bastards!”

Some twenty feet away, Miss Grimshaw had taken up cover behind some old wooden crates and fired three shots at a man who wasn’t even facing her, another one of the volunteers that Arthur recognized from the previous night. 

_She’s still a damned good pickpocket alright._

Predictably, chaos erupted immediately afterwards. With her target now collapsed and writhing on the ground, Miss Grimshaw was lucky to get one more shot off before having to duck. More gunfire erupted from the front of the house, in both their direction and Sadie’s, but in the rain it was hard to tell who was landing their shots. Arthur pulled his Lancaster from Ivy’s saddle and ran towards Miss Grimshaw as best he could, keeping as close to the ground as his lower back would allow. He winced audibly in doing so, but no one could hear it over the cacophony that consumed the area.

Halfway over to her, Arthur staggered and unintentionally landed on his right knee, causing it to flare in pain. At the same time, one of the men by the front, he couldn’t make out who it was, lined up a shot at him with what sounded like a carbine repeater and fired, but missed. Taking advantage of his dropped position, Arthur primed his lever and returned fire, hitting the man somewhere below the neck judging by how he fell and cried out. Whether or not it would be a fatal shot, Arthur didn’t know and he didn’t want to stick around to find out.

He slammed a bruised shoulder into the same crate Miss Grimshaw was ducked behind and they both could hear bullets whizzing just over their heads. “What the hell were you _thinkin’,_ Susan?!”

“You don’t know what these bastards have done to me, Mister Morgan. I am gonna flay every last one of these sons a bitches!” Even despite everything she’d been through, the weeks of being an isolated captive and being confined to a single room by Pinkertons and their sympathizers, she still had that fire in her eyes that Arthur grew to fear and respect since that first time Dutch brought her into camp all those years ago.

There was a time and a place for that fire, but that time was not now and this was not the place.

The corner of the crate closest to Arthur’s head blew away with a blast. “Do we gotta flay ‘em _right now?”_

“You can run with your tail tucked if you want, Morgan. _I’m_ seeing this through!,” she snapped, waiting for a pause to stand up and fire again.

Some more returning gunfire sounded, this time from the treeline behind them. Arthur looked back to see Charles shooting with some longarm gun he likely took from one of the other saddles. Bill was slouched over on Brown Jack and didn’t look like he could even hold his own weight, let alone a gun.

“Arthur, we have to leave, _now!,”_ Charles cried. He was inclined to agree.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself before shouting back, “Charles, cover us!” Without waiting for a response, he grabbed Miss Grimshaw around the waist, knowing better than to attempt trying to sling her over his shoulder in his current state, and began dragging her back towards the horses. Thankfully, she wasn’t able to put up much of a fight, though she was certainly trying.

“Let _go_ of me, Morgan, I ain’t finished with ‘em!” She fired two more shots blindly into the downpour before her gun finally fell silent with each trigger pull.

“Well _I’m_ finished with ‘em, and you’re comin’ with me. Come on!”

The bullets landing around Arthur’s feet came less frequently, but it still sounded like there was some activity happening at the front of the house. He had to all but toss Miss Grimshaw onto the back of Ivy, not trusting her with her own horse, and then mounted up himself. Charles spurred his temporary horse around a large arc to avoid the front of the house, and Brown Jack followed after with a helpless Bill trying his best just to stay seated upright.

Miss Grimshaw at least had the good sense to toss the spare gun and hold onto Arthur with both hands without much fuss, but she was still slinging curses back at anyone who would listen. Charles and Bill kept going forward in one direction, but Arthur steered Ivy aside, lingering back to look for Sadie and survey the front of the house best he could. There were some bodies on the ground out front, some of them still moving, but he couldn’t make out if any of them were Ross.

What did catch his attention was the poor soul lying in the mud a few dozen paces away.

Fordham was on his side, completely wrapped around the torso with ropes like one of Sadie’s bounties; definitely her handiwork. He looked miserable, but relatively unharmed. It was a comfortable distance for the Lancaster, one that Arthur had killed several men at before even in conditions as bad as these. Judging by the unsure and worried expression Fordham wore when he locked eyes with Arthur, he likely knew this as well.

Arthur raised his gun and easily leveled the helpless man in his sights.

_He’s a Pinkerton workin’ for Milton._

He primed the lever.

_He’s a threat just like the rest of ‘em._

His finger rested against the trigger as it had done thousands of times before.

_He’s gotta go._

Fordham swallowed and clenched his jaw. His eyes never left Arthur’s however.

_We’ll be safer with him gone._

Miss Grimshaw gave him a reassuring squeeze at his sides, wordlessly giving her approval.

The thoughts running through his head were all true, but they weren’t _right._

He lowered his weapon.

Seated behind him, Miss Grimshaw brooked with a scolding tone, _“Arthur…”_

He couldn’t do it. Luckily his Volcanic was tucked away in one of the saddlebags so his passenger wouldn’t be able to swipe _that_ from him too and try finishing the man off herself. But her disappointment was overbearing anyway, just as it had always been.

“Arthur, is that you?!”

He turned to his left to find the source of the shout and saw Sadie peering out from behind the cover of a large tree with a rifle at the ready. “Yeah, it’s me,” he answered.

“Well let’s get the hell outta here, come on!” She took off on foot in the same direction Charles and Bill had gone. Arthur followed with his eyes the path she was taking and saw Taima and Hera hitched further back, closer to the train tracks and out of sight from the house. There was no more reason to stay here.

Still, he looked back one last time at Fordham, who still hadn’t managed to get upright and likely wouldn’t without help. Arthur wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. ‘Thank you,’ would have been a strange thing to say to a man who shoved a gun in your face and essentially arrested you. ‘I’m sorry,’ would be equally strange, as Arthur had done nothing to him. ‘I hope we meet again,’ would also be a lie.

He opted to simply give a curt nod and spur Ivy away from the house he hoped never to see again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really had to stop myself because originally I was going to tack on two more scenes after this one and end up with like another 10k chapter, but I don’t want to linger away from Albert for too long with these back-and-forth perspective changes. I also think I’m preferring these shorter chapters anyway; there’s less downtime between updates and I feel like I’m actually writing more than when I drop a bigger one.
> 
> Ironically I’ve made more time for writing by finally letting my 80-something day streak on Red Dead Online end. I feel like I forgot to feed a pet or something though and if these rumors of a property/homeowner update later this year come true I might end up kicking myself for it.
> 
> I know there are some Javier stans in the audience and he’s coming off as not-great so far in this work, but I do have an overall plan for him so don’t be so quick to slap the antagonist label on him. It’s probably gonna be another three chapters yet before we get to address that though. (God, the closer I get to the end, the farther away it feels…)
> 
> I’ve also been seeing a ton of Charles-related discourse on tumblr this past week, and how not all writers handle him properly which made me reflect on my own writing. Some complaints (not directed at me, just in general) were that people write him as naturally aggressive (what fics are /you/ guys reading?) which I think I avoid, but there were also some remarks that he isn’t always given enough agency and is just kind of used as a plot device to keep things moving. I try not to fall into the trap of making him the infallible Magical Black Man™ that solves all of Arthur’s problems, and I do give him some flaws (his guess that Jack got sent far away from Blackwater was wrong and Arthur literally caught him sleeping), but I don’t think I do a good enough job giving him his own motivations beyond wanting to help his friends. And while that is a valid reason all on it’s own, I’m hoping I can do something better with him still with the time we have left in this story. Like John obviously wants to find his son, Arthur has settled down in a permanent home that he doesn’t want found out, Bill just got straight-up tricked as we found out in this chapter (I do think his gullibility is a key facet of his character), and Javier... we’ll get to Javier, I promise. But to-date, Charles’ motivation is solely to help his friends. I think I’d like to flesh that out a bit more however.
> 
> As always, I’m willing to hear your thoughts on my writing; this is all still a relatively new hobby for me after all.


	18. Leverage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert comes up with a plan. Carrying it out is harder than he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy did my motivation slam into a brick wall this past week. I have no idea why, maybe I’ve just been on a hobby overload lately? At least the Google Docs app on iOS finally got a dark mode and I finally had the eureka moment to write the current chapter as a separate document rather than trying to wrestle with the 130k-word master document directly. I don’t have to watch my battery life drain in real time anymore!
> 
> I may have slipped up in the last chapter we saw Albert. There's no way Milton would’ve locked him up with his knife, but I forgot to specifically address it. Let’s just say that he had his gun belt and Volcanic going into the barber shop, but he left the knife on Penny’s saddle so he doesn’t have it with him right now for whatever reason? There, loophole addressed; don’t @ me.
> 
> Also in this chapter for the way I wrote Jack, remember that this work takes place in 1904 rather than 1907, so Jack is only 9 years old here, not 12. I imagine he’d still be a little child-like and not the sassy tween we get in the epilogue.
> 
> This chapter picks up immediately where Chapter 16 left off (still the same day as the last chapter with Arthur).
> 
> _UPDATE- This chapter was updated for minor edits on 12/12/2020_

In retrospect, Albert could be forgiven for thinking he was hallucinating at first. He hadn’t heard the child’s voice in over a month, and certainly didn’t expect to finally find him in a hidden attic compartment of his longtime barber. Still, the boy tried again when he wasn’t answered.

“Uncle Albert, is that you?”

Finally Albert lifted his head, letting his eyes widen and jaw drop at the sight of the boy hiding under the bed frame. _“Jack!,”_ he gasped. He soon found himself clasped tightly by small arms, but was unable to return the embrace on account of the handcuffs. Instead he opted to tilt his head and try and comfort the boy as best he could.

“I- I…”

“Jack, shhh, it’s okay,” Albert cooed. He hoped his voice was coming off as reassuring and not revealing how terrified and bewildered he had been just a few moments earlier. “We’ve been looking for you, we’ve _all_ been looking for you.”

Jack's body shuddered and he asked, “Am I in trouble?” Albert’s heart all but broke at the question.

“No! Not at all; Jack, you did nothing wrong!”

His voice threatened to crack with sadness when he asked, “Why can’t I leave?” Not an easy question, and Albert audibly stumbled over it in his response.

“There are... some bad men wanted to scare your father and Uncle Arthur, so… Jack, this is _not_ your fault, I’m just happy you’re safe.”

“I wanna go home.”

Albert’s throat hitched with emotion; not entirely unlike the first time Jack had let slip an “Uncle Albert” in an otherwise ordinary conversation years ago and Albert had to leave the room to compose himself. Part of reconciling with himself the type of man he was was accepting that he would never have children. And while that continued to be and would _always_ be a point of contention between him and his mother, Albert had largely made peace with that. He acknowledged that he had nieces and nephews back in New York that he cared about, but Jack was the only child he regularly interacted with. And Albert understood their bond wasn’t anything at all like parenthood, he still knew he would go unusual lengths to protect the boy.

It was this latent paternal instinct that caused him to steel himself and say, “I’ll get you home. I promise. Here.”

Jack finally let go and stepped back so Albert could awkwardly try shimmying his wrists forward and through his feet. He winced through the damnable shoulder that seemed to never get better and looped his cuffed hands over Jack to pull the boy into the first proper hug he had probably received in weeks. Neither of them spoke for a bit and Albert did not chastise the boy for crying into his vest. He took this time to properly look over the room past Jack’s shoulder.

There really wasn’t much to see. There was the small ventilation window high above the floor - the only pitiful source of light in the room -, the raised wooden bedframe with a small mattress and dirty unmade sheets, and an empty plate and cup on the floor. All that, and the out-of-place metal door better suited for a bank vault than a barber’s attic.

He didn’t let go of the boy, but after a while Albert had to get some more information out of him. “Jack, tell me; what happens in here? Do they ever let you leave?”

Jack sniffed and shook his head. “No,” he pouted softly. Albert’s eyes fell to the empty plate and cup.

“How do you eat?”

Jack swallowed and steadied himself with some breaths before explaining. “Mister Wilton comes and brings me food, but I have to say ‘thank you’ to him first.” Albert suppressed the flash of anger he felt and instead let Jack pull away so they could look at each other in the dim light.

“How often does he come?”

Putting up a small hand with three fingers, “Three times a day. In the morning, in the middle of the day, and then after it gets dark.”

“Does he stay with you?,” Albert asked. Again, Jack shook his head.

“I don’t like being in here when it’s dark.” Albert’s heart broke all over again imagining the boy being alone and scared in this small, pitch black room every night for over a month now. All while he had been gallivanting across five states, jumping from hotel room to hotel room. He shoved his guilt down, knowing it would come back on its own later at a more appropriate time and put on an encouraging face instead.

“I know you don’t, but you’ve been _so_ brave, Jack. It’s okay though, I’m with you now.” The boy gave him a weak smile at that and Albert pressed on. “So Mister Wilton is going to come one more time today?”

Jack nodded. So there was some semblance of a schedule happening here that Albert could at least plan around. No doubt Henry’s approach to things would change with the addition of his new prisoner, but perhaps that could be an advantage. He pulled Jack in for another hug - the boy certainly looked like he could use it - while his mind ran through some potential outcomes.

After some time, Albert took in a deep breath, exhaled and asked, “Okay… Next time Mister Wilton comes in here, how about you and I play a little trick on him?”

* * *

Two pieces of bread. Two apples. Two cups of water.

_That should be enough, right?_

It didn’t matter if it was enough or not, that was what they were getting. Keeping a child well-fed enough to not die was easy, but Milton really threw a wrench into the works by getting Mason of all people involved. _Albert Mason!_ The man was practically a local celebrity in town, and if people realized he’d gone missing and that Henry’s shop was the last place he’d been seen, the sheriff would come snooping around in a matter of days. And Henry was beginning to doubt that Milton had actually paid off the law like he’d originally claimed.

That was a headache for a different time however. First he had to feed the boy, which meant letting Mason know how things were going to work around here from now on.

Henry placed the items onto the tray and inspected the pistol one last time. He had to admit, it _was_ a beautiful piece of artistry, and even if he wasn’t all that proficient with a gun, how hard could it be to threaten someone with it? He was just glad he was able to finagle it from Milton as payment for looking after a new charge. If nothing else, he could sell it for a handsome price when all this was over. Satisfied that he could handle a handcuffed man and a child, Henry awkwardly holstered the large gun in his pocket as best he could and took the tray upstairs. He stopped at the door he had installed weeks ago in anticipation of this ‘project’ Milton had told him about and put in the combination: 30 - 8 - 38. Before opening it however, he set the tray down on the ground out of the way and readied the pistol in his right hand, tugging on the door with his full weight with his left.

It was earlier than he usually came to feed the boy, but he was too anxious to keep putting it off. Still, the fact that there was maybe another hour yet of sunlight meant that the room was poorly lit, but not completely dark. It was for that reason Henry could make out Mason seated on the ground, head bowed in defeat. At least that was a good sign, but the more curious sight was of the boy lying face down on the bed, sprawled out in a way that did not look comfortable with his legs dangling over the side. That was unusual in itself; typically the boy was cowering and had to be commanded to come out from under the bed.

“Is he sleeping?,” Henry asked in a hushed tone. Mason huffed, as if he had just remembered a joke.

“In a way.”

Already Henry knew something was wrong, but he didn't know what and wasn’t in the mood for games. He reassured his grip on the gun and asked more pointedly, “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Well he’s certainly not awake. And he never will be again.”

The line was delivered nonchalantly and in a detached manner. Four years he’d had Mason as a regular client, and not once had he ever seen the man act like this. Henry cast his eyes over the small figure in the bed and could not make out any signs of movement in the dim lighting.

Without taking his eyes away, “You’re lying.” Mason slowly shook his head and finally looked up with a pained expression and spoke slowly.

“I’m already dead, Henry. Either Arthur never shows up and Milton kills me himself so I don’t rat him out to the authorities for unlawful detainment… or Arthur shows up and kills me for talking to Milton about his plans.”

Henry snapped his head towards the man on the floor. “You didn’t tell Milton anything though.”

Shrugging, “Arthur won’t know that. And he won’t believe me if I tell him. But the boy…” he looked over to the bed solemnly and Henry followed his gaze. “He was just leverage for you, wasn’t he? A tool to get his father to do Milton’s dirty work for him.”

“He’s going home at the end of the month. Milton was telling the truth.” Henry was supposed to be the one in control of the situation, but he felt incredibly unsteady in the moment.

“Not anymore he’s not. Not unless it’s in a casket,” Mason commented morbidly.

“I don’t believe you.” The photographer slowly panned his eyes up towards the barber.

“Do I strike you as the type of man who would associate himself with outlaws?...” He paused and cocked an eyebrow for dramatic effect. “No?... Then maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

Henry’s eyes widened despite himself. It certainly wouldn’t have been difficult at all to strangle a malnourished boy not even ten years old, and the two of them had been alone in this room for a few hours at this point. It's not like any sound could travel through the massive metal door either. “He’s a _child,”_ was all he could manage.

“He’s your _leverage,”_ Mason corrected. Then, making a point to enunciate each word, “And I removed your _leverage.”_

Mason seemed unhinged and desperate enough to actually carry out what he said he did, but Henry had to make sure; if the boy _had_ died in his custody, there’s no telling what Milton would do to him. He quickly shoved the gun back into his pocket where it didn’t fit and in one large step was able to cross the small room and approach the bed. He peered down, cursing himself for not bringing a lantern to actually _see_ what was happening in the room, and shook the boy violently.

“Jack? Jack, wake up right now!”

Jack did not move.

Henry’s throat tightened with panic. Then it tightened with force.

Mason was on him in an instant. He’d seized on the opportunity Henry had foolishly allowed him and the barber found himself face down on the bed, pinned down by the full weight of a grown man driving a knee into the small of his back and strangling him with steel handcuffs. He desperately reached for the gun at his right side only to find that it wasn’t there, having fallen and clattered onto the floor.

“Jack, get off the bed,” Mason urged. The most curious thing happened then: the boy immediately moved off the bed and out of the room, and Henry realized that he’d been had.

_That kid’s afraid of his own shadow. How did he get the boy to listen to him?_

His body demanded answers to more pressing questions however, chief among them when the next breath of fresh air was going to come. Questions Henry did not have the answers to as he struggled underneath the usually polite and decidedly stronger-than-he-looked Mister Mason. Questions that simultaneously became more important and less coherent as the seconds dragged on painfully. Had the room not already been so dark, he would have noticed that the edges of his vision were quickly ceding to blind spots. But all he could make out were the sheets his face was pressed into and how far away they seemed despite that.

* * *

There was no sense of victory or satisfaction once Henry had stopped struggling and gone slack underneath him, but Albert was thankful that he wouldn’t have to do it anymore. He pushed aside the discomfort of how easy it was - yet another thing to unpack later - and instead eased the pressure off Henry's throat, keeping his hands close by in case it was necessary to continue the deed. Fortunately that didn’t seem to be the case, as the man took in a slow, strained breath but did not stir; he had merely passed out. Albert gave a sigh of relief, though this was where things were going to get tricky.

He slipped his cuffed hands over Henry’s head and patted the man down. Just a money clip and some keys to the building, but none of them could be used for his handcuffs. He took them then picked up his Volcanic off the floor, able to tell just by the weight that it was properly loaded. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to use it, but there was comfort in knowing that he could if he had to. He turned and saw Jack staring at him from just outside the door.

“That was a great job, Jack!,” he offered. The boy looked past him into the room.

“What’s gonna happen to him?” Albert glanced back and was thankful that the man was still not moving, but didn’t want to waste any more time than he had to.

Stepping out of the room and leaning into the door with his good shoulder, Albert said, “We’re just going to keep him in here for a bit. Only fair, don’t you think?” The door gave a satisfying _clunk_ as it shut and Albert pulled back in a lever to set the lock for good measure.

“I don’t wanna come here ever again,” Jack said. Albert couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Neither do I, Jack. And between you and me, he always charged too much anyway. Now come on, stay close to me.”

Holding Jack’s hand probably would’ve been the more appropriate thing to do, but Albert opted to keep the Volcanic at the ready just in case. He wasn’t aware of Henry employing any assistants, but he didn’t want to chance being seen escaping. Getting out from this point should be a straightforward affair; it was only a few hours ago Milton had forced him up these very stairs and it wasn’t like it would be easy to get lost in a building like this.

‘Should’ being the operative word.

They descended to the second floor and as Albert was about to lead them down the hallway that would take them to the second staircase, a young man stepped out of a doorway he hadn’t noticed the first time he came through here. The younger man didn’t do so specifically to block their way, and seemed equally surprised to notice them. He was doubly surprised to find a gun pointed at him immediately after.

“Who are you?!,” Albert demanded frantically. The man was understandably rattled.

“Wh- What?”

“Who are you!?,” he repeated. The man threw his hands up in surrender and stammered a response.

“I’m… I’m Malcolm. Malcolm Thompson.”

“Do you work for Henry Wilton?”

“No! I’m just a tenant; he’s letting me rent a room here.” A plausible explanation, Albert decided.

Voice dripping with disgust, “Do you know what is upstairs?” Malcolm’s eyes dropped to meet Jack’s cowering behind Albert’s legs before snapping back up to the man leveling a gun at him from ten feet away.

“No? He told me to never go up there. Sir, _please_ put the gun down!”

Albert took a step forward. Malcolm flinched, but he didn’t run. He was visibly unarmed and seemed more willing to talk than fight.

“You _never_ saw us.” Malcolm understood the implicit threat immediately.

“I- Of course, of course!”

Gesturing with the gun he held with both hands, “Go back into your room and don’t come out for the rest of the night.” At this, Malcolm finally offered some resistance.

“I can’t, I was about to leave for work.”

_We don’t have time for this._

Albert closed the gap between them and Malcolm froze in place, expecting the worst. Fully intending to knock the man out, Albert raised his hands and struck a blow with the butt of the gun across the younger man’s temple as hard as he could manage.

_“Ow!”_

One strike was not enough apparently. A second strike also was insufficient. Neither were the third, fourth or fifth ones.

“Please stop hitting me!,” Malcom pleaded with one knee on the ground and his arms braced over his head.

_Micah made it seem so easy._

Recognizing that this method wasn’t working, Albert was forced to try a different approach. He cocked back the hammer of the pistol and pointed it squarely at Malcolm, who paled. A forceful kick to the leg finally spurred the frightened and confused man to scurry back into his room.

“Just… wait ten minutes. And you _never_ saw us,” Albert repeated.

“Alright! I promise!,” Malcolm yielded before closing the door. Albert heard some more noises come from inside the room, likely Malcolm attempting to barricade himself in, but Albert didn’t want to stick around to test that theory.

He led Jack down the stairs to the first floor, but before entering the main space proper, Albert lingered on the last step and peered to the right around the wall into the room. All of the lights were still on, but the front door was locked with the sign flipped to read “CLOSED” to the outside as it was earlier. Henry had likely missed out on a full day of business; Albert felt a slight twinge of pride at inconveniencing the barber.

From behind, a small voice asked him, “Why did you hit that man, Uncle Albert?”

Convinced that there was no one else here at the moment, Albert pulled back from the corner and looked back at Jack with as much humility as he could muster. “I thought he was someone else. I made a mistake.”

“Should you apologize to him?” The boy may have spent his younger years in a literal gang of criminals, but Albert didn’t want to be yet one more bad example for him.

“I should. And I’ll try, later, but let’s get you home first, okay?” He didn’t know if it was a false promise or not, but it had the desired effect.

“Okay,” Jack nodded.

Albert stepped off the bottom stair into the hallway behind the register. At this point there was no sense in trying to intimidate anyone who would get in his way, so he holstered the Volcanic away into its proper place and unrolled his sleeves in an attempt to hide his handcuffs before entering the main room. No customers, thankfully, and he even saw his hat on the counter in front of the mirrors. Without thinking, he strode over and grabbed it with both hands on account of the handcuffs. Just next to the hat was one of the bottles of hair dye Henry had teased him about earlier, and Albert found his eyes lingering on the bottle.

_It’s not like I’ll ever be coming here again._

He was half-seriously contemplating swiping it when a knock on the front door ripped his attention away.

He wheeled around, hat in his hands, to see a man he didn’t immediately recognize watching him through the glass front door. He was dressed identically to Milton, but this man sported a handlebar mustache and a more open and trusting face than Milton was ever capable of. There was no mistaking that this was a Pinkerton, and there was no escaping the fact that Albert had been spotted. The fact that the man was waiting patiently and not immediately forcing his way into the room likely meant he didn’t recognize Albert either.

“Just a moment!,” Albert shouted loud enough for the man to hear through the closed door. He walked back to the register where Jack was still hiding and bent down, pretending to handle something behind the small counter the register rested on. To Jack, he whispered, “Stay behind here and don’t come out until I say it’s okay, alright?”

Jack understood and nodded, despite the growing weariness from lurching from one stressful situation to another.

_He really is a good kid._

Straightening his posture and trying to hide both his cuffs behind the hat he held at waist height, Albert plastered on a smile and approached the door. The man watched him the entire time with a neutral expression. Albert made a show of unlocking the door from his side and cracked it just slightly open.

“Can I help you?”

“Who are you?,” the man asked. Albert reached into his mind and grabbed the first name he could think of.

“I’m Malcolm Thompson. Who are _you?”_ It was a hell of a gamble, but it seemed to pay off by the subtle way the man’s brows raised in recognition.

“You’re Mister Wilton’s tenant? I don’t believe we’ve ever actually met.”

Leaning harder into yet another lie, “Yes? Who are you?” The man’s body language relaxed.

“I’m Agent Burns with the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Is Mister Wilton available? The shop’s not usually closed this early and I was hoping to speak with him.”

Albert’s stomach dropped. _This is the agent staying with Abigail!_

“Is he in trouble?” Burns laughed shamefully.

“Oh, no, not at all! He’s a friend of mine. Sorry if I gave the wrong impression.”

“I see. I keep to myself mostly, but I believe he’s upstairs right now,” Albert explained with as level a voice as he could manage. That much was true, but he followed it up with more falsehoods. “I’ve been out most of the day; I only just got back myself. Would you like me to get him?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all, but I have to keep this door closed. Honestly, he might yell at me if he finds out I unlocked it at all...”

Burns offered a warm smile and said, “I’ll try to talk him down, keep you out of trouble.”

Albert returned the smile and said, “I’d appreciate that. Please, just give me a minute or two.”

With a tip of his hat, “Of course.”

He closed the door and re-locked it as fast as he could manage without drawing suspicion and turned on his heel back towards the rear hallway.

“Not yet, Jack,” he whispered to the boy without looking. Albert turned left and up the stairs but only took the first two steps before halting and pressing his back to the wall of the stairwell. He waited several seconds before carefully peering over the side, back into the front room. Burns was still looking into the shop through the glass windows, but soon appeared bored.

Something out on Blackwater’s main avenue caught his attention then. Burns turned his back.

“Jack, come this way!,” Albert hissed. The boy finally got up from the space under the register he was hiding in and Albert stepped down out of the stairs and they both went to the back of the building to the left and out through the rear door.

They found themselves in one of those spaces between buildings that the public rarely had need to be in. Thankfully there was no one out here to see them, and the fast fading daylight only helped their escape. Albert took them left, past the rear of the adjacent photography studio and into the small undeveloped plot of land next to it where he had hitched Penny earlier. His heart leapt at the sight of her, blissfully minding her own business there, oblivious to the day her owner had been through.

“Okay, Jack, you ready to go home?”

With barely contained excitement, “Yeah!”

“Me too. Come here.” With some effort he hoisted the boy up into the front of the saddle - _he’s getting so big!_ \- and then followed suit. Penny, old thing that she was, knickered at the unusual task of carrying two riders and Albert rattled off a string of promises of treats and pamperings using that silly voice he only used with her. Jack laughed for probably the first time in weeks at that.

One last look over his shoulder confirmed that Burns hadn’t caught on yet, and Albert spurred Penny westward towards Beecher’s Hope as fast as she would go. Which was to say not that fast at all.

* * *

“Abigail! Abigail, come out right now!”

The trip back to the ranch had taken longer than he would’ve liked and the sun had completely set at this point, though the rising full moon was providing ample enough light. If Agent Burns was a capable Pinkerton at all, he’d soon realize he’d been had. Perhaps he’d try to search the area for a bit, but after sensing something was wrong he’d ultimately come back to the house. And there was no doubt in Albert’s mind that a Pinkerton agent would be outfitted with a horse faster than an old nag past her prime.

Penny slowed on her own as they approached the familiar homestead from the south entrance and Albert didn’t even wait for her to come to a complete stop before swinging a leg over her side and dismounting.

“Abigail?! Uncle?! Is anyone home?!,” he continued to shout as he helped Jack down.

The front door swung open and Uncle exited, repeater in hand. “Al, what’re you doing here?,” he asked in a chastising tone, likely because he also expected Burns back soon. But then his eyes fell to the boy hesitating by Albert’s side and was visibly shocked. Abigail emerged a moment later at his side.

“Albert’s here? What’s-“ her words were likewise stolen from her.

“Mom!” No longer uncertain, Jack broke away from the protection of Albert’s profile and rushed toward the front porch.

And Abigail _wailed._

It was a sound Albert knew he would never forget for the rest of his life; the sound of a mother whose child was ripped from her arms in broad daylight finally able to collapse to the ground and hold her son again after the most torturous month of their lives. Despite his role in making it happen, he still felt like an outsider looking in on something that wasn’t his, so he lingered by Penny’s side for a moment, letting the reunion take precedence.

Uncle, not usually one for shows of emotion, also knelt down to hug the mother-son duo that seemed nigh-inseparable in that moment, but then soon backed away to give them some space. He turned and stepped off the front porch towards Albert and shamelessly wiped away at his eyes. “I don’t believe it. How did you find him?”

“It was more of an accident than anything else, really,” Albert admitted. He raised his cuffed wrists for effect and continued, “I was captured by Agent Milton, and he threw me in the same place he was holding Jack, but we managed to escape.”

“Milton kidnapped you?” Albert lowered his eyes to the ground in shame momentarily.

“Well, it was more that I walked into his trap. I should’ve been more careful…”

“Hell, if it helped you find Jack, I’m glad you did! Here, lemme help you.” Uncle came closer and pulled Albert’s cuffs away from his body and into a position that allowed him to easily shoot the chain between them. There was still metal around Albert’s wrists, but at least he had full range of motion of his arms again.

“Thank you for that,” Albert said genuinely, stretching his arms and shoulders out. Uncle just smiled back.

“Aww, you’ll pay me back later, I’ll think of something.”

Albert cast a backwards glance at the southern approach and saw nothing, but he was still worried. Turning back to Abigail who was now looking at him, he announced, “I’m sorry, but I think I may have put you all in danger; you all have to leave immediately.”

Abigail finally addressed him with confusion. “What? Why?” He stepped up onto the front porch and pointed loosely in Blackwater’s direction.

“Agent Burns is still in town and he saw me. I tried to distract him and buy some time, but once he figures out what I did, he’ll come back here. You need to be _gone.”_ Abigail’s relief from a few moments ago gave way to new anxieties, but she understood and accepted.

“Where should we go?”

“Should we go to your place?,” Uncle asked. Albert didn’t like that idea. He shook his head and held his chin.

“No, that’s not far enough. Let me think.”

_Going to Blackwater and catching a ferry to Saint Denis is too risky. To the west is just woods, and Uncle can’t hunt to save his life. Maybe north? They could easily find a place to stay in Strawberry, but is that too obvious? To the south there’s nothing but Thieves’ Landing and..._

Albert snapped his head up to Uncle, then to Abigail. “Head south into New Austin. Close to the border there’s a ranch run by a woman named _Bonnie Macfarlane.”_ He took care to stress the name and Abigail nodded.

“Bonnie MacFarlane,” she repeated.

“She’s a friend, tell her I sent you.” He paused for a moment then added, “Maybe leave out the parts about Pinkertons though... just make up a story about why you had to leave the house.”

“Okay. But what about you?,” Uncle asked. Albert looked to the man at his left and knew he was about to be met with resistance.

“I’ll stay here, just a little while longer. Maybe I can distract Burns for a little bit. Mislead him, make him think you went in another direction.”

Finally Abigail rose to her feet and leveled a disapproving look at him. “Albert, that’s too dangerous. Just come with us,” she pleaded.

“I can’t, I have to go back to Lemoyne to meet with Arthur.” That was enough to distract her, at least momentarily.

“Where _is_ Arthur?”

“He’s… somewhere in Lemoyne. I don’t know exactly.”

“The hell’s he doing in _Lemoyne?,”_ Uncle spat. Albert let his irritation show for just a moment.

“It’s complicated. Look, the past few days have been extremely-”

“Where’s John?,” Abigail interrupted. Albert clenched his jaw and gave his friend a grave look.

“I don’t know. We think he was coming back here to turn himself in to Milton, but he doesn’t need to do that anymore,” he spoke softly, gesturing to Jack. “Look, you need to _leave._ I’ll figure out a clue to leave for John and I’ll try to mislead Burns into thinking you went north instead of south.”

They all stood there uncomfortably for a few moments before Uncle slung the repeater over his shoulder and stepped off the porch. “I’ll get the wagon ready. I’d pack light, Abigail.” She looked down and carded her fingers through Jack’s hair until Uncle had rounded the back of the house and was out of sight. When the three of them were alone, she looked up to Albert with glassed-over eyes.

“Thank you, Albert. I...” Further words failed her, but he understood the sentiment. He pulled a tight smile in response.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he spoke softly. “There’ll be plenty to catch up on later, I’m sure of it.” A genuine laugh escaped Abigail, then Albert knelt down to Jack’s level. “How about we get you packed up for a trip?”

“Okay.” He turned to head back into the house, but before he crossed the threshold he looked back at Albert and said, “Thank you for taking me home, Uncle Albert.” It was his turn to struggle with words for a moment.

“I told you I would,” he responded, hiding his face under the brim of his hat.

* * *

The trio packed and mounted up in record time. After appreciative farewell hugs that probably lasted for more time than they had, Uncle whipped their two workhorses into motion down and out the south entrance of the property, intentionally keeping their traveling lanterns off. Albert saw off with a wave his de facto extended family he had grown to love from their front porch before heading inside the still-lit house.

It was in an even poorer condition than the last time he was here on a surprise visit, but he would not hold it against Abigail. He knew the woman normally kept the place immaculate, and he even dared to hope that they could all return to those times. Until then however, he had to leave a clue for John to find before he needlessly turned himself in to Milton. Albert scoured the various messes of the house until he finally found some suitable stationary and got to work writing a letter in the manner that Arthur had taught him.

_Dear Uncle Milton,_

_I’m sorry we weren’t able to come visit your ranch this past summer. Jake took ill and then we lost a cow and half the barn in a bad storm. Hopefully we can try again next year, or maybe meet halfway? I have a friend who owns a ranch, similar to yours, in Hennigan’s Stead. It’s even got its own train stop! Please let us know what works best for you._

_Yours,_

_A.Callahan_

Content that it was ambiguous enough for someone who was unfamiliar with the gang’s style of leaving notes, Albert folded it in such a way that it looked like it was shipped in an envelope. He left it on the dining room table, not too prominently but separate enough from the rest of the clutter to stand out to someone who was looking for a clue. He had to hope it was good enough for John to find. He was debating whether or not to half-obscure it with an old newspaper when the sound of horse hooves approaching the house froze his blood.

_Thought I’d have more time._

Leaving the letter where it lay, Albert exited onto the front porch. His acting chops hadn’t been so great lately, but it was all he had in the moment, unless he was willing to shoot a Pinkerton agent unprovoked, which he wasn’t.

Burns reared his horse to a halt next to Penny, who had no reaction, and all but jumped off his mount. He squared a mean look at Albert, and immediately readied and pointed a revolver at the photographer.

 _“You!_ What are you doing here?” Albert stammered, not expecting a weapon to play into the equation quite so soon.

“I… need help. I was running a delivery out of town when some men started chasing me-”

“I don’t believe you,” Burns interrupted. The agent saw through the pathetic ad-lib instantly and Albert was at a loss for words for several seconds, which only served to confirm Burns’ suspicion.

“Sir, it’s true-”

“Abigail Marston! Get out here right now!,” he barked behind Albert. They both stilled for a moment and strained to listen. Obviously there were no sounds coming from inside the house as there was no one in it, but Albert did hear another horse approaching from behind, from what sounded to be the north entrance of the property. He had a horrifying realization then.

_He brought backup. That’s what took him so long. I’m trapped._

Albert swallowed and tried to keep up the act anyway; every moment of Burns’ that was wasted was another moment Abigail, Uncle and Jack got that much farther. “No one is here. I just went inside. The lights are on but there’s no one home.” The agent tore his eyes away from the doors and back to Albert.

“Step down here.”

Albert paused, then surprised even himself with his answer.

“No.”

Burns did not care for that at all.

Face distorted into a scowl, he ordered, “I’m placing you under Pinkerton custody, come _down_ here.”

“Sir, I did nothing wrong, I swear!,” Albert pleaded. He finally raised his hands in surrender, rolled-down sleeves no longer covering his cuffs, but Burns didn’t seem to notice. He was more focused on something moving inside the house. Albert heard it as well. When the front door opened, he turned to his right, fully expecting to see another Pinkerton agent or even the sheriff.

John, hands on his gunbelt, gave Albert a completely expressionless look for a few seconds before looking ahead to Burns.

“What’re you doing, Burns?,” he rasped with thinly-veiled contempt. Burns didn’t react to that, likely used to the attitude by now.

“This man is up to something,” he explained, gesturing with his gun at Albert. John spared another sideways glance nonchalantly.

“He’s a friend, I know him. He had nothing to do with the gang though, he has nothing to do with all this.”

“Then why is he here alone when your wife and uncle are missing?” Directing the next questions at Albert, “You said you were delivering something? _What_ were you delivering?”

Like most everything else in his life lately, this wasn’t going anything at all like Albert planned. But he was tired. Tired of keeping track of lies, tired of constantly being on the defensive, tired of second-guessing every decision, and just physically tired on top of all that. Deciding that it would finally be freeing to just cast caution to the wind... he told the truth.

“I was delivering a kidnapped child back to his mother. A child who was taken from her and then held in the attic of Henry Wilton’s barbershop right on the main avenue of town. The very attic Milton threw me in this morning before we managed to escape.” John slowly turned his head to the left to study Albert.

“The _barber?,”_ he asked in a whisper.

Albert continued, “I brought Jack home just now while you were waiting out in front of that very building. You knew he was being kept there, didn’t you?” Burns’ face slackened for just a moment before contorting with even more anger than it had previously.

“How did you… Where _is_ Wilton? No, where is the boy?!” He hadn’t found Henry in the room in the attic it seemed.

“With his mother,” he answered defiantly, going so far as to raise his chin. “They’re long gone by now, and I won’t tell you where they went. It’s too late; you’ve lost them.”

Burns’ nostrils flared with rage at being outplayed by Albert. “You’re coming with me.”

He took a step forward and began approaching the front porch, but stopped in his tracks as John sidestepped to place himself between the two men.

Burns lowered his weapon, but kept it at the ready, pointed at the ground. He glared at John. “Step aside, Mister Marston.” John ignored the command.

His voice took on a decidedly dangerous tone when he asked, “You knew where my son was this whole time? You said only Milton knew.” Burns tilted his head and raised his free hand in a calming gesture.

“Mister Marston, nothing has changed; the deal still stands. If you manage to bring the other five names in, we can grant you clemen-“

“Nothing’s changed?,” John spat. “My friend here just rescued my son, I don’t have to do _anything_ for you.”

Burns made another attempt to de-escalate the situation, this time with a threat. “Don’t overstep yourself, Marston. Milton can still turn you in to the authorities. Or need I remind you of the bounty on your head?”

“The bounty that has expired?,” Albert called out from the back. John did not turn around, but he knew he had his friend’s attention. “Oh, did he not mention that to you, John? Sadie says there isn’t a sheriff’s office in the country that has the money to pay out what you’re worth. And Milton knows that; he just wants you and everyone else dead.”

“That’s not true-“ Burns tried, but Albert talked over him.

“That’s why Charles and Arthur had their own lists with _your_ name on them.”

John was breathing through his nose audibly loudly with barely-contained fury. His eyes were all but boring a hole into Burns’ face at this point. “Is that true?,” he growled.

Burns said nothing.

A cool autumn breeze blew across the plains and ran through the three men as they stood still on the front porch for several seconds. From his point of view, Albert could only make out John’s back as Burns was completely obscured by his profile. He had been waiting for the agent’s answer, just as John had, but he had been expecting a verbal one, not a physical one. It was for this reason why the following sounds that punctured the night air startled Albert so.

_BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG_

A pause, then-

_BANG_

Albert ducked down and to the side instinctively as a bullet whizzed past his head and slammed into the side of the house just behind him. This new position allowed him to watch Burns stagger backwards, attempt to raise his gun one last time, fail, then fall onto the ground face up. John eased his posture and holstered his spent gun, but did not take his eyes off the man actively dying in front of him.

“You sleep in my house… you live with my wife… knew where my son was this whole time… and you think you can _out-shoot_ me? _Me?!”_ There was such a violent undertone in John’s voice that Albert hardly recognized him in that moment. He didn’t even know John was capable of readying and firing a gun that fast; it was an almost supernatural talent.

Burns, for his part, gasped despite the six new holes in his chest before doing the courteous thing in light of those accusations and falling still.

Albert lowered his hands from around his head and slowly stood upright. He was too afraid to approach John or even speak at all to the man who was still staring down at the Pinkerton, now shaking his head.

“I’m done… I’m _done,_ Al.” He turned back to Albert with a dark look in his eyes. “I’m done playing by their rules.”

Finally daring to speak, “I don’t blame you… Everything I said was true, by the way. I wasn’t just saying that.” Some of the residual darkness in John’s eyes slipped away and he looked more familiar and recognizable to Albert then.

“I know. I believe you. You’re a good man; I’ve always trusted you from the moment we met.” Despite literally just watching a man die, Albert forced out a weak laugh.

“Well... technically the _very_ first time we met, I _was_ lying to you.”

John flushed, still to this day embarrassed by his conduct during that train robbery, at least with respect to Albert. He ran a hand over the back of his neck and looked back at Burns quietly for a stretch. When he finally met Albert’s eyes again, he looked distraught.

“How was he?” The ‘he’ wasn’t specified, but Albert understood who he meant.

“He was a little shaken up. He thought he did something wrong, that this was all his fault and I had to explain that it wasn’t. Once I got him back to Abigail, he got better.” John smiled weakly before drawing his brows together.

“I’m still confused though, how _did_ you find him?” It was Albert’s turn to look away in shame.

“I had a meeting with Milton in town today. He told me he had a lead on Micah, which I foolishly believed. He’s figured out that I’ve been working with Arthur and threw me into the same room they’d been keeping Jack in.”

John went distant for a moment and huffed in disbelief. “Charles and I were running up and down Roanoke Ridge when he was right there in town the whole time… That’s probably why Burns went back into town every day.”

Albert was more inclined to believe Abigail’s explanation for Burns’ daily sojourns into Blackwater, but he kept that to himself.

Fortunately, John saved him the trouble of detailing that reason when he continued, “So the barber, what’s-his-name, where is he now?”

“I… well Jack pretended to be dead, and when _Wilton_ went to inspect him, I strangled him from behind until he passed out. Then I locked him in that room and we left, so, presumably he’s still in there…”

Morbidly, he thought back on Burns demanding to know where Henry was just a few minutes ago; it sounded like he hadn’t found the barber. If Malcolm was telling the truth and didn’t know about the compartment upstairs, Henry was likely the only person who knew the combination to that door. Had Albert indirectly killed the man?

John had a wholly different attitude towards the revelation.

“Good. I hope he rots.”

He finally stepped off the front porch and began patting down Burns’ body for valuables with practiced and callous ease that shouldn’t have surprised Albert as much as it did. With the first stroke of good luck he’d had all day, John removed a set of handcuffs from Burns’ vest with the key to unlock them. He stepped back up and motioned for Albert to step closer.

“Where’s Arthur?,” John asked. Albert presented his cuffs to be unlocked.

“I’m not exactly sure. He went to Dutch’s grave to turn himself in to the Pinkertons yesterday.” John undid the first cuff, then looked aghast at that.

“Why would he do that?”

“To find Bill. _He_ got captured first.” John paused before working on the second cuff.

“That sounds like a terrible plan.”

“That’s what _I_ said,” Albert chuckled. When the second cuff was unlocked he massaged his wrists and thanked John with a silent head nod. “Though isn’t that just what you were coming back here to do?”

John pocketed the key and handcuffs, likely deeming that they could come in handy later, and looked at Albert uneasily. “How did you know about that?”

“Charles told us you’d run off on him. And you didn’t show up for our meeting in Saint Denis,” he pointed out. John ran a hand over his mouth and looked apologetic.

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t meet you guys. I just…” He struggled to find the words and just threw up his hands in concession. “I gave up. Took my time coming back here, tried to enjoy my last days as a free man.”

“Personally I think you got back at just the right time,” Albert quipped and John smirked.

“Guess so. But what about Arthur? Is he gonna be alright?”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” he dismissed. “I’m due to meet him in a day or two outside Rhodes.” John nodded.

“Do you need me to-“

“John,” Albert interrupted, already knowing what his friend was going to offer. “Go be with your family.”

“You sure?”

Nodding again, “I’m sure. After the day I’ve had, I think I can handle a simple train ride back to Lemoyne.” John smirked, then unexpectedly pulled Albert in for a tight hug that irritated his shoulder, though he allowed it.

“Thanks, Al,” John whispered in his ear. There was a lot that went left unsaid as to everything that ‘thanks’ covered, but they understood one another. They parted shortly after.

Gesturing back behind John, “It’s the least I could do; you very well may have just saved my life just now.” John waved a hand dismissively.

“You kinda saved _me_ from doing something stupid, too. _And_ saved Jack.” He wets his lips, following a new train of thought, and asked, “Do you know where they’re going?”

“I sent them south. We have a friend named Bonnie MacFarlane, she runs a ranch with the same name a little past the border into New Austin. I don’t think Pinkertons have much of a presence in that part of the country.” John stared at him, but said nothing. “What?”

“Nothing, just… now I see why Arthur’s always going on about how smart you are.” Albert didn’t feel particularly smart that day, but accepted the compliment anyway.

With feigned offense, “It took you this long? You insult me.” They both laughed, then Albert continued more seriously, “But before you leave, I think we need to address something, don’t we?”

John’s smile faded. “What’s that?”

“John, there is a dead Pinkerton on your front lawn,” Albert deadpanned.

He turned back to look at the corpse again, then let his eyes roam the property, settling on the barn. “Bet you the pigs ain’t been properly fed in a while.”

Albert paled at the implication.

“That… I mean… I recognize that nature isn’t always beautiful, sometimes it can be downright grisly…”

John finally looked back at him with a cheeky sideways glance. “That was a joke.” Albert could not find the humor in it at the moment.

“Ha ha,” he responded flatly.

“I’ll handle him. Go on, get outta here,” John offered as he stepped down off the porch. Albert followed and gave John a reassuring pat on the back before mounting up onto Penny who he was just realizing hadn’t run off at the sound of gunshots like Burns’ horse had.

“Fair warning in advance, Bonnie is probably going to put you to work on her ranch, but she’ll treat you all well,” he said as he spun Penny around in place.

“I ain’t afraid of ranch work no more,” John scoffed. “But I don’t think all this,” gesturing loosely at nothing in particular, “is over yet. When’s the next time I’m gonna see you and Arthur?” Albert didn’t have a ready answer for that.

“I’m not sure. But if you stay with Bonnie, we’ll come find you when we need to.”

“Works for me. Thanks again, Al.” John squatted down and hoisted Burns’ body up and over his shoulder into a carry, but seemingly couldn’t resist one last jab at his brother-in-law. “And stop talking to Pinkertons!”

Albert rolled his eyes as he rounded the house to take the north exit off the property. “I shall certainly try.”

* * *

“Back again already?”

The comment caught Albert off guard until he rubbed his tired eyes and recognized the Riggs Station clerk as being the same man that saw him off the train yesterday. Rather than snapping at the man out of sheer exhaustion like he wanted to, he fell back on years of ingrained social graces and forced a smile.

“You know it’s funny you say that; my trip actually took _longer_ than expected.”

“Well I hope it was a good one!,” the clerk innocently bantered. Albert shut his eyes for a moment and fought back a sigh.

Getting to the point, “I need a one-way ticket to Rhodes. And a horse voucher as well, same destination. Earliest possible, please.” The man quickly consulted some charts out of view on his side of the counter.

“Too bad you weren’t here earlier, you missed one in the afternoon.” _No doubt the train Milton had mentioned having to catch._ “I got a night train running from Denver to Saint Denis coming through in three hours, that’ll hit Rhodes on the way. Will that work?” Albert took out his pocket watch and glanced at it.

_11:48 PM_

He wanted to cry as he forced himself to say, “It’ll have to do.”

Money was exchanged for the ticket, specifically the money he had taken from Henry, and Albert took a seat outside the small interior of Riggs Station so the artificial lighting wouldn’t bother him anymore. He could attempt to catch some rest before the train passed through; it’s not like he’d be able to sleep through _that._

Overall, it _had_ been a successful trip, at least on paper. He’d learned what Milton knew, which was the whole purpose for coming out here, and rescuing Jack was just about the biggest possible cherry on top of the whole situation. A dead Pinkerton was almost certain to complicate things now, but the deed was done. What _wasn’t_ certain was Henry Wilton’s fate. If no one else knew about the room in the attic or if he was the only one who knew the combination to the door, it was very likely that he would die, neglected, in that prison he had constructed. But if he managed to escape, either by some built-in failsafe that Jack never figured out or just by screaming enough through the ventilation window to get someone’s attention, that was going to spell trouble for Albert. He’d never be able to set foot Blackwater again. Never again be able to enjoy a stroll along the pier, never be able to visit the tailor for new clothes, never be able to talk shop with the town’s resident portrait photographer, never visit the general store for groceries or camping equipment, never-

Albert leaned his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly frustrated with himself as he remembered the one other task he had given himself.

_I forgot to buy a lantern._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack: I’m scared.  
> Albert: Guncle Mode A C T I V A T E D
> 
> Man, our boy had a day, didn’t he? Here I thought this was gonna be another short chapter and it ended up being the second longest so far after “Saved Yours, Save Mine”.
> 
> I’m finding myself being more reflective about this work while still in the middle of writing it and one of the key things I’m already putting in the “what I would do differently if I were to write this again” column would be to introduce Henry WIlton earlier. I kind of just plopped him in front of the reader in Chapter 16 and said, “trust this guy because Albert trusts him.” Like a lot of the surprise of his betrayal kinda got lost when that was literally the first time you’ve seen him; I wish I had given him even a non-speaking mention or cameo in like the first or second chapter just to establish him better, but I guess it’s too late now.
> 
> I hope you guys are enjoying these brief flashes of John in this story; it wasn’t my intention to write him this way, but he really is just kinda popping up once every few chapters before running off to do his own thing again, but there are A LOT of moving parts in this story if you haven’t noticed. I also was trying to drive home some semblance of a friendship between him and Albert; like obviously Arthur is the bridge between them, and they both have stronger relations with him, but I like to imagine that Albert and John would also grow closer over the past five years in this setting.
> 
> For the record, the moon was 98.48% full and in a “waning gibbous” phase on September 25, 1904. Yes, I wouldn’t have mentioned there being a full moon if that weren’t the case. I’m lucky there aren’t detailed weather reports dating that far back, or I’d probably be referencing those as well. (The STEM major really jumps out sometimes, huh?)
> 
> Finally, I think ‘“John, there is a dead Pinkerton on your front lawn,” Albert deadpanned.’ is the most amusing sentence I’ve written for this work so far. I don’t know why, but it makes me chuckle.
> 
> As always, let me know what you think of this one.


	19. Always Listen to Your Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur completes his rescue, then runs into someone he wasn't expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’m buying a new house? Which means I have to get ready to list my current home to sell it? Pretty sure I threw my back out today moving shit into temporary storage, and in the process confirmed my suspicions that 50% of all of our possessions are my husband’s books. Extremely exciting and stressful times coming up ahead for me, but that also means that I don’t know that I can commit to even once-a-week updates for a while. Which sucks that this might be my last one for a while because it’s just kind of a filler chapter where no ~major~ plot beats happen, but I just wanted to give a heads up.
> 
> This chapter picks up immediately after where we left off two chapters ago with Arthur (same day as the last chapter, but before Albert and Jack get out of the room).

Cold rain continued to batter the five former Van der Lindes as they tried to put as much distance between them and that awful house they had managed to escape. Charles took the lead, followed by Bill who was barely able to keep himself upright in his saddle. Arthur rode behind him to make sure he didn’t fall off Brown Jack, and Sadie took up the rear. Charles shouted something over his shoulder that Arthur couldn’t quite make out, but he did follow the finger that pointed to a large nearby structure that Charles peeled off of the road towards.

It appeared to be an abandoned military fort from that last war before Arthur’s time, and it had not been maintained well. He remembered passing the place once, a long time ago when he was separated from the gang and thought they were in this area, but had never gone in to explore it for himself. What had once been a main gate was now an open access point into a small courtyard hemmed in by four fortified walls with once-functional watchtowers posted at each of the four corners. The group dismounted in this open space and sought refuge inside the remains of a one-room bunker that had half of its roof collapsed in.

As he helped Susan down off of Ivy’s back, Arthur asked her quietly, “Are you alright?” She gave him a look halfway between a sad smile and a frown.

“No, but I will be again. Thank you, Arthur,” she muttered so only he could hear.

“Of course.”

He guided her ‘inside’ where Charles was trying to wring the water out of his bandana and Sadie leaned against a wall to catch her breath. Bill had already tucked himself away into the driest, darkest corner that the building allowed for and was likewise trying to steady his raspy breaths; at least he wasn’t outright coughing anymore.

“Don’t you quit on us just yet, Marion,” Arthur quipped, trying to bring some levity to the situation. He was just happy to hear that Bill was able to huff a response at all.

“Shut up, Morgan…”

Sadie peeled herself off the wall and gave Susan a quick hug, despite the fact that they were both soaked. “Well shit, wasn’t expecting to find  _ you _ too Miss Grimshaw. Not that I’m mad about it.”

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, Mrs. Adler. Hell, the lot of you are; I wasn’t expecting to ever get out of that awful house, but I sure am glad for it.” The excitement of the day was starting to catch up with the older woman and it showed in the exhaustion that colored her voice and body language.

“How long were you in there?,” Charles asked softly. They were all curious to hear her story, but didn’t know if she was ready to tell it. Arthur pulled over the sturdiest chair in sight and set it in the dry part of the shack for Susan to sit in.

She thanked him and sighed as she took a seat. “I haven’t been home in  _ weeks. _ I just… I just wanna go home again.”

“Where’s that?,” Arthur prompted. He knew her address, knew how to reach her by mail, but had never visited her new home in person.

“Just outside of Van Horn. Close enough that I can head into town, cheat a few rounds of poker and pickpocket the drunkards every now and then for fun.” That earned a smattering of chuckles and grins before Arthur’s next question.

“How’d you get wrapped up in all this business then?”

Susan folded her hands in her lap and stared down at them. No one spoke for a bit, content to just listen to the steady rainfall that didn’t seem to be letting up - at least there was no thunder to go along with it - as she took her time. Finally, when she was ready, Susan began.

“A few weeks back, I’m not even  _ sure _ anymore how long it’s been… I was heading into town to mail some letters to John and to you, Charles. But along the way I thought I’d stop by and see Dutch.” She ducked her head and smiled sheepishly, as if out of embarrassment. “Even after all these years, I can’t stand to be too far from him.”

Arthur felt a pang of guilt at the admission. He wasn’t able to save their leader,  _ his _ leader of two decades towards the end of the gang’s time, something he still considered a personal failure. It was a thought he kept private, not even committing it to his journal or telling Albert, but it was still there and always would be. Moving across the country and only coming to ‘visit’ once a year had felt like he was abandoning Dutch, but he had to remind himself that the man was dead. It sounded like he wasn’t the only one who struggled with it however.

Susan continued, “But when I went there a bunch of Pinkertons came out of the woods and surrounded me. I tried to play dumb, but they weren’t buying it, and they brought me to that  _ damn _ house and locked me away in that room.”

“If she had unmailed letters, that’s how they got the addresses,” Charles pointed out to the others. She looked up at him, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Milton found out where John and Abigail live,” Charles explained. “They kidnapped Jack and told John to turn in a bunch of the old gang members or else they’d send him to jail at the end of two months.”

Susan’s face fell as she realized what her capture had resulted in. “My god…”

_ “And _ I got a letter sent to the Wapiti reservation where I get my mail, saying the same thing. Only John’s name was on my list, and I was on his.” Susan looked around the small room at all the pitied faces regarding her, but she was still apologetic despite their understanding.

“I didn’t… they asked me all sorts of questions, but I held out as long as I could…,” she offered.

“No one’s mad at you Susan, this ain’t your fault,” Arthur reassured from her side. “What’d they ask about?” She set her eyes on him.

“They kept asking about you, Arthur. And Bill and Javier, but I figured they were dead until Mister Williamson here showed up two nights back…,” gesturing at the man in the corner who just waved without saying anything, affirming that he was in fact still alive, at least for the time being. “But I never told them where you lived Arthur, you  _ must _ believe me.”

He played it off calmly with a shrug of his sore shoulders. “Well they never showed up at my door, so I believe you. Was that all?”

She swallowed nervously.

“They asked about Micah.”

The entire room tensed up. Even Bill held his audible breaths in the corner for a pause.

“What’d you tell ‘em?”

“That he was  _ dead. _ I even told them where to go find him... Course, I never made it out that way myself, but I trusted you and John.”

He nodded, but Arthur’s mind was suddenly elsewhere as Sadie and Charles asked Susan more specific questions about her captivity. If he had the timeline in his head right, Susan got picked up by Milton before Jack went missing, which meant he knew Micah was dead before he even sent the letters out. And if he knew where the body was, he likely also had it moved before sending the letters out, which explained why it wasn’t there when he and Albert had sought shelter from a storm in that building.

_ Al… _

He could see now that Albert’s plan to string Milton along was doomed from the start. He was trying to hire Milton to find a man they both already knew was dead. And this latest trip out to Blackwater to meet Milton alone over a possible lead on Micah couldn’t be anything other than a lie.

Maybe even a trap. A trap Arthur had just let him walk into.

Charles‘ voice pulled him back to the present. “Arthur, are you alright? You look hurt.” He snapped his eyes up, relieved to see only Charles was watching him as Sadie and Susan caught up. Arthur  _ was _ hurt, but there was nothing Charles could do about it.

He cleared his throat. His, “I’m fine,” came out more aggressively than he’d intended and it almost looked like Charles winced at the reaction.

“I’m sorry it took so long. I  _ did _ follow you but…” His eyes flitted away.

“There were too many out front?,” Arthur offered.

“That, and I was pretty sure I was being followed.” At this, Charles squarely looked at Sadie who picked up that they were talking about her. She gave them both a sheepish smile.

“I just wanted to make you sweat first, didn’t know you were on a secret rescue mission.”

Charles continued, “We ran circles around each other in the woods all day and into the evening until she finally just called out to me.”

“That’s when we came up with the plan to nab the Pinkerton who got you; figured he’d come back out to Dutch’s spot the following day.”

“And he did,” Charles confirmed.

“Shoulda shot that bastard when I had the chance, but there were too many of them out front just now.” Sadie shook her head at the missed opportunity, but Susan leveled an intense and disappointed glare up at Arthur.

_ “Arthur _ had a chance. But he lost his  _ nerve,” _ she taunted with undisguised disgust. He shifted his weight onto the other foot uneasily.

“Didn’t lose my nerve, I just didn’t wanna do it,” he muttered weakly.

“Shoulda given  _ me _ the gun,  _ I _ woulda done it,” she shot back. Thankfully, Sadie pushed the conversation along.

“Were they all Pinkertons back there? They didn’t look it.” Arthur shook his head.

“No. They were a bunch of relatives of folk we’ve killed over the years. They were workin’ with Milton willingly. ‘Volunteers’ they called themselves.”

The five of them fell silent for a bit, lost in their own thoughts but no doubt thinking some variation of the same things. All of them, even Susan, had taken lives during their time in the gang, and that wasn’t even scratching the surface of the crimes the Van der Linde gang as a whole had left in its wake. Across the entire country there could easily be hundreds of survivors of people they’d wronged who would jump at the chance for revenge, even all these years later. And while those men back at the house that had been keeping Susan hostage for weeks - and probably doing the same to Jack somewhere else - were in opposition to Arthur and his friends, that didn’t necessarily make them out to be the bad guys in this situation. From their point of view,  _ they _ were the good guys, righting a long-standing wrong of some sort or another.

And that wasn’t a comforting thought at all.

For a stretch, the only sound was of the rain and groans of the fort withstanding yet another storm. That is, until Bill’s coughs started worsening again.

Arthur broke the silence first. “Look, I gotta get Bill here to a doctor in Saint Denis before he coughs up a lung. You good to ride Bill?”

He nodded, and managed to pick himself up off the floor by himself, which was a good sign, but Arthur had a lingering doubt in the back of the mind as to how fine Bill actually was. On the other hand, he didn’t want to hang around here all day and risk all of them catching a cold shivering in the remains of an old, damp building.

Sensing that the group was about to split up, Charles chimed in with, “I’ll take Miss Grimshaw home, and make sure it’s safe for her.”

_ He just don’t wanna ride with Bill. _ Arthur kept that to himself, obviously, but he was thankful that she wouldn’t be alone at least.

“I’ll come with you, Arthur,” Sadie said. “Charles already filled me in about John, ain’t no way I’m making it all the way back to his place in time by now.”

“No, I guess not,” Arthur mumbled.  _ Dumbass John… _

Some initial goodbyes were beginning to be exchanged inside the hut, but Charles stepped out to check on the horses in the central courtyard and Arthur followed after, figuring this would be his last chance to speak privately with his friend for a while. Charles noticed, but didn’t speak up until Arthur was next to him at Taima’s side.

“Once I feel Miss Grimshaw is safe, I’ll come find you. Where should I look?”

“I think it’s best we lay low for a bit and stay outta towns and cities,” Arthur murmured as he watched the rain collect and drip from the brim of his hat.

Charles raised an eyebrow sarcastically. “Aren’t you heading back to Saint Denis right now?” Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but I ain’t planning on stayin’ long,” he groaned. He took a moment to survey the ruins around them then said, “Tell you what, look near that old spot on the lake outside Rhodes the gang set up at.”

“Clemens Point?”

Nodding at the name, “That’s the one.”

Charles jerked a finger back towards the hut, and at Susan indirectly. “It might be a few days, but I’ll be there.”

“I know you will. Thank you, Charles. For everything.”

“Of course.” He turned back to brush Taima’s neck when Arthur’s hand on his shoulder made him pause, made him look back at his friend with gentle confusion, but no worry.

Arthur struggled at first, cursing his poor way with words. “I… We had a rough time in there and… I ain’t proud to say it but I thought maybe you weren’t coming.” Charles studied him with downright apologetic eyes.

“It took longer than I thought it would. I really am sorry.”

The response caught Arthur off guard for a moment, until he shook his head and huffed, “I ain’t blamin’ you, I’m tryin’ to apologize to  _ you!” _

“For what?”

“For doubtin’ you! You’ve always been there when I’ve asked you to be, and I shouldn’ta thought otherwise last night.” Charles watched him for a bit before the corner of his moth tugged upwards in a subtle smile.

“Well if it’ll make you feel better, I accept your apology.”

“It  _ does _ make me feel better,” Arthur mocked, happy to get past the vulnerability of the moment. “I don’t know why you always put others ahead of yourself, but I’m glad for it.” He clapped his friend’s shoulder and turned to go back into the hut, but Charles’ words stopped him.

“I do it because I care about you.” Arthur froze and looked back at his friend, who promptly realized how that sounded and rolled his eyes. “Not like  _ that.” _

“Then like what?”

“Like… I care about people who took me in when they didn’t have to. Gave me a family when I needed one.”

Charles’ voice had lowered again so Arthur took a few steps back towards Taima, who was now being fed an apple out of Charles’ hand.

He continued, “I was in a bad way before I met Dutch. Guess I was afterwards too, but at least I wasn’t alone anymore. I felt like I had a place where I belonged for once, and... it was nice.”

Arthur frequently forgot how briefly Charles had really run with the gang. He only joined up shortly before Micah, but it had hardly been a year before the Blackwater job happened, and then everything else that transpired that awful year. It felt strange because it almost felt like Charles had always been there, that’s how easily he slotted into their makeshift family.

When Taima had finished taking the apple out of his hand, Charles turned back to face Arthur in the downpour. “I’ll never forget how that made me feel. And even if we’re all split up now, living in different places, I’ll still show up to help those who helped me.”

Arthur saw an opportunity and couldn’t resist.

“Even Bill?” That got the desired effect as Charles’ face dropped and he groaned.

“Why’d you have to ruin a good moment?”

Arthur laughed openly, and went to return to the hut, get out of the rain for just a bit and say goodbye to Miss Grimshaw one last time. He felt better after clearing the air with Charles, even if Charles received an apology he wasn’t even looking for. But he was a good man, and Arthur was glad he’d stayed involved with the rest of the former gang. It would’ve been the easiest thing in the world to take his share of the Blackwater money and disappear back into the west where they’d first found him and never-

Arthur slowed his gait, then reversed completely, a new question on the tip of his tongue that he wanted to ask before he lost his nerve.

“Hey Charles?”

“Hmm?” Arthur sidled up close and lowered his voice again.

“If you don’t mind my asking… what’d you ever do with your share of the Blackwater money? You never settled down with a place like John and I did.” It was an unusually forward and deeply personal question, but to Charles’ credit, he didn’t so much as flinch at Arthur’s curiosity and answered the question almost immediately.

“I gave most of it away to the Wapiti Tribe almost as soon as I got it. I didn’t need that kind of money then, and I don’t now.” Arthur’s jaw dropped. He blinked and snapped his mouth shut.

“How much is ‘most of it?’”

“Ten thousand dollars,” was the instant, easy response. Arthur couldn’t form a coherent follow-up thought in light of that.

“Huh…”

If Charles felt defensive about the decision, his tone didn’t show it, but he did continue. “I don’t regret it. It helped them buy a lot of their land legally and hire better lawyers. And especially after Cornwall died, they’ve been able to relax for a few years.” His expectant eyes asked the unspoken question ‘Why are you asking?’ plain as day. Arthur shrugged and thought maybe he owed Albert an apology over  _ his _ donation.

“Was just curious is all.”

* * *

The hotel clerk standing behind the ornately-decorated counter regarded the three, soaking wet newcomers to his lobby with utter disdain as they dripped onto his marble floor.

“Unfortunately, we have no vacancies at the moment.”

It wasn’t the same clerk Arthur and Sadie had faced five years before, but he may as well have been, what with the same outfit and accent and attitude. Arthur’s hand was already resting on his Volcanic and had actually removed the gun from his holster when Sadie put herself between him and his next victim.

“Let me handle this, honey. Please.”

He grunted, sliding the gun back into place and adjusting Bill’s arm that was slung over his left shoulder to better carry the other man’s weight. Sadie, satisfied that no weapons were going to be shoved into anyone’s faces for at least a little bit, spun around and tried working her charm on the employee.

“We’re not looking to stay, this is more of a social call. I was wonderin’ if you could call someone who’s stayin’ here by the name of…” She turned back to the other two, “What was it? ‘Jackson?’”

“‘Johnston’, Doctor Nathaniel Johnston,” Arthur corrected. Then, under his breath he muttered, “Don’t forget the  _ ‘Doctor.’” _

At least Bill got a chuckle out of that. Or maybe it was just another weak cough.

In any case, the clerk who was already openly exasperated just ten seconds into the encounter did his job and dialed up to Nate’s room after briefly consulting a log of all the hotel’s current guests. Nate came bounding down the stairs, two at a time, less than a minute later and looked like his breath was stolen away from him at the sight that met him in the lobby.

“Ben! Are you alright?,” he gasped.

“Been better…,” the assistant croaked from Arthur’s left.  _ Ain’t that the truth? _

Nate paused, just for a moment to lock eyes with Bill before swiftly positioning himself under his other arm. “Will you help me get him upstairs, Mister Mason?”

“‘Course.”

“I’ll wait down here, Arthur,” Sadie called out behind them. They hadn’t hashed out formal plans for what they’d do after dropping Bill off, but Arthur knew he didn’t want to stay in the city.

For as fancy a place as the Hotel Grand was, it apparently wasn’t fancy enough to have an elevator. Thankfully Nate was only staying on the second floor, which made his quick appearance in the lobby after the phone call suddenly made more sense. He led the trio to a door down the hallway that he opened with a key. Crossing the threshold, Arthur found himself in a large sitting room that had two couches and a small kitchenette. At the far end were two doors that likely lead onto a separate balcony, but were understandably kept closed due to the weather.

“Let’s set him down onto the bed,” Nate suggested. It was only then that Arthur realized that there  _ was _ no bed in this room, but rather it was located in an entirely separate room off of this one that they all hobbled into. He wasn’t even aware hotel rooms could even have more than one… well…  _ room. _

They placed Bill down onto a bed larger and cleaner than Arthur had ever seen before; Bill’s protests that his clothes were too wet were immediately excused by the doctor. Nate all but ran back into the first room only to appear a moment later with the same supply bag he brought with him to treat Albert’s gunshot all those weeks ago. He sat at the edge of the bed, whipped out some device Arthur couldn’t remember the name of, put two ends of it into his ears, then placed the third end under Bill’s shirt, onto his chest.

“Breath in... Hold… Exhale...,” he ordered. Bill complied and Nate instantly frowned. Repeating this process two more times in slightly different spots didn’t seem to yield any improvements. Nate covered his eyes with his free hand in a poor attempt to hide his reaction.

“That bad?,” Bill tried joking. Nate ran the hand that was already there over his face and removed the apparatus from his ears. He gave him a strained smile.

“Not as bad as when I first found you. If we could get past that, we can get past this.”

Bill reached up and held Nate’s hand that was still resting on his chest. “I shoulda listened to you.”

“You should always listen to your doctor.” The two of them shared a sad chuckle between them and Arthur suddenly felt like he was intruding on something that wasn’t meant for him, but they did not shoo him away.

Bill continued, “I’m sorry... Thought I was gonna die back there... Thought I’d never see you again.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight ever again, so you won’t have to worry about that.”

As if remembering that there was someone else in the room, Bill panned his eyes over to Arthur lingering by the door. “You hear that, Morgan? I can’t come out to play with you no more. Doctor’s orders.”

Giving him an approving handwave, “That’s fine, think you earned a rest anyway.” Nate, likewise only just then remembering their guest, turned to face him.

“What  _ did _ happen? How did you find him?”

He bounced off the door frame to stand up properly and ran a hand over his jaw in thought. “Uhh… short version? Went to the same spot he got nabbed, turned myself in and they took me to the same place Bill - sorry,  _ Ben _ \- was, then a buddy who followed me helped us break out.” There was a lot in between he left out, but those were the important parts and Nate still raised his eyebrows, impressed anyway.

“That’s certainly better than  _ my _ plan…”

“Arthur told me you were gonna come rescue me by yourself?,” Bill asked. Nate turned back to his assistant.

“I was going to try, yes,” he admitted. A deep, wet-sounding rumble came from Bill’s chest, but thankfully it wasn’t another cough this time.

“You still can’t even shoot bottles that ain’t movin’, how the hell were you gonna shoot Pinkertons that can shoot back?” Nate also found the humor in it, but went with a more heartfelt response than another sarcastic deflection he no doubt was capable of.

“I don’t know, but I was willing to try. For you.”

They looked deep into each other’s eyes, oblivious again to Arthur at the doorway who was suddenly finding the benign painting of flowers on a separate wall very interesting.

“I love you, Nate.”

“I love you too.”

There were sounds of movement on the bed that Arthur didn’t turn to watch, but he did hear Bill quickly whisper, “You can’t… you can’t kiss me, I don’t want you catchin’ it.” Nate sighed, but as a medical professional he certainly understood.

“It really is like that first year together, isn’t it?”

Arthur finally stole a sideways glance, hiding one eye behind the brim of his still-soaked hat, to find the two of them embracing intimately on the bed and it made him feel… strange. Strange and not a little bit hypocritical; it wasn’t that he was seeing two men be affectionate with each other, that had been his whole life ever since he began living with Albert. Rather it was the fact that he was seeing it in a different relationship, that wasn’t his own, and again realizing that he and Albert weren’t the only ones who lived the way they did. Sure, he knew Bill and Nate were a thing, and apparently Bonnie was running a whole ranch of deviants without realizing it, but it was one thing to know there were others that loved like he loved and another thing entirely to see it happen before his very eyes. It was still more than a little overwhelming and he felt guilty for even looking.

An involuntary chill ran through his body. He blamed it on standing there in still-soaked clothes.

“I’m just gonna step out for a bit,” he announced and abruptly stepped back into the first room, closing the door behind him only halfway.

“Thanks, Morgan. For… you know.” Bill was as good with his words as Arthur was.

“I know.”

Now having the chance to take in this larger room that made up the bulk of the suite, Arthur could see various books and newspapers and notepads and whatnot scattered about the place. It seemed like the kind of mess Albert had in his photography studio in their basement back home and he had to chuckle. It was less than a minute later that Nate exited the bedroom, again taking care to close the door behind him. He studied Arthur and let his eyes linger on the visible bruises on his neck and forearms.

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but I’m guessing they did a number on you as well? Would you like me to inspect you? It’s the least I could do.”

It was a nice gesture, but Arthur instinctually declined without even entertaining the offer. “Nah, don’t bother. Just some bruises and scratches. Not much you can do.”

“Well I hope you at least take a few days of bed rest. If not, I’ll have a word with Albert and I’m sure  _ he’ll _ get you to take a break,” Nate threatened jokingly. “I’m assuming he’s in the city?” 

Arthur was overcome with the sense of dread he’d been trying to ignore since the revelation about Micah earlier in the day.

_ I don’t know  _ where _ he is right now. _

He held that discomfort to himself, or at least he tried to. “No, I was actually about to head out; got plans to meet him somewhere outta town.”

Nate spared a quick glance at the darkened windows that the rain was still beating down upon. “At this hour? So late?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Nate took a moment before deciding he wasn’t going to be able to talk Arthur out of it. “You’ve certainly proved yourself to be more capable than  _ me. _ And truly, I must thank you again.”

Arthur sniffed and nodded slightly. “You saved Al for me. I’ll never forget that.”

“And I’ll never forget this,” Nate responded. Then he stepped forward, away from the bedroom door and spoke in a hushed tone, “Though I will say that I am more worried about him than I let on in there.”

“He’s been coughin’ up a storm all day. He’ll probably tell you about it when he’s ready but… we went through hell in that house.” Arthur couldn’t meet his eyes as he said it.

“And I’m sure the weather didn’t help any, either. I’m worried about keeping him here; Saint Denis is hardly known for its stellar air quality. But I don’t think he’s in any condition to travel for a few days.” He sighed and they were both quiet for a moment, but Nate continued, “At least it’s not the dead of summer anymore and the humidity will pull back once this storm passes. Maybe we’ll take the ferry to Blackwater and stay there a few days.”

Arthur winced at the mention of the lakeside town. “I’d recommend stayin’ out of Blackwater for the time being until all this blows over.” Nate nodded in agreement after a beat.

“No, you’re right. When do you think this will ‘blow over?’”

Shrugging and shaking his head in exhaustion, “I have no idea.” Nate’s mouth pulled into a tight line at that.

“Well I appreciate your honesty. And everything else, obviously; you’ve…” Nate paused for an uncharacteristically long time before finally just going with, “you’ve saved my family to put it bluntly.”

It was strange to think that just two people could make a family, but again, was that not Arthur’s exact situation for the past five years? Sure, the Marstons lived only an hour away and they saw each other frequently enough, but Albert was the only one he saw every single day. He was Arthur’s family now. And that was enough.

“I understand. Take care of him, Doc.”

“I will. And take care of  _ yourself,” _ he stressed.

Nate returned to the bedroom and closed the door behind him. Arthur was about to leave the suite and go back into the hallway when he noticed a switch on the wall next to the door frame. He flicked his eyes up to the ceiling and saw an ornate fan there, then back down to the switch.

Curiosity got the better of him. He turned it on.

The fan began spinning and quickly gained enough speed to send a breeze into the room that pushed some of the loose papers placed haphazardly around the room up into the air and onto the floor.

“Son of a bitch…,” he muttered.

Arthur flicked the switch back off and left the room.

* * *

He took his time ambling down the stairs on account of his knees and shins finally protesting at being pushed to their limits after a day of escaping and traveling, to say nothing of the beating from just the night before he hadn’t recovered from yet. His clothes still weren’t dry either, not by a long shot, but at least he wasn’t actively dripping all over the place anymore so he wasn’t worried about slipping down the stairs. What he was worried about was the fact that it sounded like Sadie was having a conversation with someone, but who would she know in this city?

“I never actually made it out that way, but sure, I wouldn’t mind swingin’ by. What’s the best time of year?”

“Any, really. Well, I do find the winters to be quite cold, but you lived in Ambarino, didn’t you? That shouldn’t bother you.”

_ Mary. _

“I’ll think about it and write you before I make up my mind. I have a sort of... project I’m workin’ with Arthur on.” Still standing in the lobby, true to her word, Sadie glanced over Mary’s shoulder at that exact moment and caught Arthur coming down the stairs. “Oh, speak of the devil.”

He must’ve looked to be in quite a state judging by the way Mary’s face fell into shock when she turned around to face him. “Arthur! Are you alright?”

He finished his descent, trying his best to hide his winces, and looked her over. Of course she’d done the smart thing and had an umbrella at her side, sparing her evening dress from most of the rain. She must have just gotten back from another night out on the town with her local friend and saw Sadie on her way in.

“Hello, Mary. I’m fine, it looks worse than it feels.” He tried striking a friendly tone, but she drew her brows together in concern anyway.

“You’ve always said that.”

“I’ve always meant it.” They held each other’s eyes then, Arthur pleading with her to not ask more questions, Mary growing frustrated with being shut out from something she was better off not knowing. Looks they’d cast on each other dozens of times before in their youth, but this was the first time this century they repeated this painful stalemate.

Sadie cleared her throat.

“Mary here was tellin’ me about Denver. Figured I’d pay her a visit once you and I finish with…,” she trailed off, not knowing how much to divulge. Mary narrowed her eyes at him.

“Yes, what is this ‘project’ you two are working on?”

Not breaking away from her gaze, he responded in a neutral tone, “Tyin’ up loose ends from a long time ago.” Her suspicion turned to worry again.

“But I thought… That part of your life is over now.”

“I don’t think I get to make that call,” he responded sadly.

Finally, Mary was the first to look away. She scanned the lobby and it’s few patrons that were in it before asking, “Where’s Albert?”

He tried not to flinch at the question.

“I don’t know. I’m supposed to meet him somewhere outside of the city tomorrow.” Mary didn’t care for that answer.

“Is he involved in this ‘project’ as well?,” she challenged.

“By  _ his _ choice,” Arthur stressed.  _ “I _ didn’t make him do anything.”

Another few tense moments of silence passed; Mary was concerned for her friends, not just the two that were present but also the one that was missing, but her hand-wringing wouldn’t help any of them and Arthur was hoping to spare her from stressing out over something that was out of her control. It was probably too late for that, however.

Sadie raised an eyebrow. “So… we headin’ out, Arthur?”

In truth, he didn’t really want to; a quick glance through the front doors told him that the rain still hadn’t let up and he wasn’t looking forward to camping outdoors in this weather at this time of year. Least of all after the past twenty four hours he’d had. Mary got a word in before him however.

“You’re leaving? So late?”

“Well we can’t stay here; apparently there are ‘no vacancies…,’” he grumbled, scowling at the clerk a few dozen feet away who likewise looked like he was wondering how long this trio would occupy his lobby.

“Then stay with me,” Mary offered. “There’s plenty of space in my room.”

Sadie didn’t say anything, but she did raise her eyebrows and tilted her head, wordlessly signaling her interest. Coincidentally, a wave of fatigue chose that exact moment to wash over Arthur and he realized just how sore his feet were, how chafed his wrists still felt, how stiff his back was, how strained his neck was, how bruised his ribs were, how-

He sighed. “Sure, why not. But we gotta leave early in the morning, rain or shine.” Mary’s face lit up with relief at her small victory.

“I won’t hold you, but I’ll feel better knowing you’re at least getting some rest.”

He still didn’t want to stay in the city overnight, especially not so close to a Pinkerton office after he just escaped their custody that morning, but he was in no condition to keep pushing himself; he wasn’t a young outlaw anymore, so he shouldn’t live like one either. As Mary and Sadie began walking up the stairs, Arthur cast a backwards glance at the clerk who was scowling back at him.

Arthur gave the man a sarcastic smile and wave. He felt a little better about the decision after that.

* * *

The suite was largely the same as Nate’s, which is to say entirely too large for one person, but just right for accommodating two unexpected guests. There was also no argument to be made; Arthur was taking the bed, and he was outnumbered two to one in this.

Sadie and Mary stayed up for a while catching up in the sitting room, but Arthur excused himself to go to rest after barely fifteen minutes of this. They continued on afterwards in hushed tones, but Arthur could plainly hear Sadie filling Mary in on everything that had transpired over the past month or so. Maybe it was better that way, maybe Mary would handle it better hearing it from her rather than from Arthur.

He could also hear this conversation continue through the door because he could not bring himself to fall asleep despite the fact that this was easily the most comfortable bed he’d even laid in in his life. Instead his mind was keen on repeating two thoughts. The first was that he had let Albert leave to go to Blackwater and walk into a meeting with Milton that was too dangerous. There was a significant possibility that Albert wouldn’t even show up at their agreed-upon meeting place tomorrow, in which case… Arthur didn’t know what he would do.

The second thought was the acknowledgment that some men had been wounded and likely killed today. Men who had volunteered to work with Milton explicitly for the opportunity to exact revenge on what remained of the Van der Linde gang, cut down as they were from their glory days. Arthur didn’t want to give them the chance, but was it right to do so? Was it right to resist punishment he deserved for past sins? Were those men not entitled to revenge? Each of those volunteers had been seeking a chance for closure for a loss they’d experienced and what did they find? More loss.

Arthur’s mind oscillated between these two thoughts until it finally wore itself out.

* * *

As promised, Mary did not keep them in the morning, but she did regard him with an expression that was more pained than usual; no doubt because she finally understood what had been happening since that day John came over to beat on his door in a panic. Arthur wished he could have had more time to speak with her, but more importantly he wished he was in a better mood to do so. There would be more time later, he told himself. Once he knew Albert was safe again.

Fortunately the weather had cleared up, but the roads both inside and out of the city were still wet. Ivy all but bristled at Arthur as he approached to mount her, no doubt upset at being hitched outdoors all night; he never met a horse with as much attitude as she possessed, and he could almost swear his promises for sugar cubes and pampered brushings fell on deaf ears.

Sadie split off for Clemens Point alone a little after they left the city limits, at Arthur’s request. It was where they’d meet up eventually, and it was where he’d told Charles to find him, but that wasn’t specifically where Albert agreed to meet him. Still, he wanted Sadie to make sure the spot was vacated, and that some other band of outlaws wasn’t using it at the moment.

No, Arthur and Albert had agreed to meet elsewhere before they’d parted ways. He thought back to that last evening in their small hotel room -  _ God, was that only three days ago? _ \- after they had made love and held each other on that bed. Arthur suggested staying out of Saint Denis to avoid Pinkertons, and Albert conceded that it was a fair point, but he thought it would be useful to at least be nearby the city. Neither of them wanted to meet north in the swamps, nor in Rhodes proper, but there was another discrete location in the region that could work for them.

Arthur slowed Ivy to a halt at the top of a slope in a wooded section of Scarlet Meadows. She promptly wandered a few steps away to let her displeasure be known and Arthur let her. He would only stay for a few hours and if Albert didn’t show up, he’d rendezvous with Sadie and come up with a new plan. In the meantime, he eased himself down the slope into the naturally-formed basin.

The previous day’s rain had caused the small watering hole to swell high, higher than it had been that hot summer day years ago when Arthur was last here. When he had asked Albert to be more than a friend. When they had shared their first kiss, just by the bank over there. It was a day and a moment he would never forget, and even if it was something of a spontaneous decision he’d only made a few hours before carrying it out, it ended up having a profound impact on his life. It was fitting that such a beautiful place could set the scene for such a beautiful memory.

It was fitting that this place that had such importance to him was shared to him by another close friend.

Fitting, that that friend who showed it to Arthur in the first place would be here right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur: I don’t feel like sleeping outside in the rain tonight.  
> Ivy: Am I a joke to you?
> 
> Also, you will pry these hotel clerk- and ceiling fan-related running gags from my cold dead hands. I could get dozens of comments begging me to stop, telling me they're not funny, and I'll still put them in solely for myself.
> 
> This may be the first time I’ve dedicated three chapters to the same in-fiction day, but like, a lot has been happening on this Sunday, September 25, 1904. I’m still keeping my event calendar for this plot (and I’ll share it once this work is finished), and the description for this one date can’t contain everything that actually happened. Guess that’s to be expected when you have two separate plots happening simultaneously.
> 
> As I mentioned at the top, I don’t know when this next one is gonna go up, but this next conversation with Javier is probably going to be the most challenging part of this entire work to write; there’s a lot of points I’m gonna want to nail down and I hope I can pull it off.
> 
> Finally, $10,000 in 1899 was equivalent to $310,960.46 in 2019 when adjusted for inflation. (Charles @ Albert: "Step up your game.")


	20. Get What You're Given

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur gets some answers from Javier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently buying and selling a house at the same time involves having a realtor come through your place to point out everything that’s busted, dealing with attorneys who keep spelling your name wrong on legal documents, four-and-a-half hour home inspections, running to Lowe’s, painting, running back to Lowe’s to get more paint, painting more, and spending money, and spending money, and spending money. Which does not leave a ton of time for writing about gay cowboys as you have probably realized.
> 
> You know what also sucks? Battling a hornet nest that you ignored all summer on the side of the house, dumping four cans of pesticide on it and still having a swarm attack you when you go outside. Had to blast it with a garden hose for half an hour from fifteen feet away, screaming like a bitch every time I almost got stung, until it was finally destroyed enough to throw in some heavy-duty garbage bags. 0/10, would not recommend to a friend.
> 
> Anyways, that’s what my past two weeks have been like. Let’s get into it.
> 
> This chapter begins immediately where the last one left off.

So exhausted and distracted as he was from the events of the previous 48 hours, Arthur didn’t even notice he wasn’t alone until he was standing at the water’s edge.

Unfocused, his eyes roamed the surface of the small watering hole without purpose until they settled on a fishing bob floating in the water. Following the slack line up to its owner, he had to force a few hard blinks before he registered that he was looking at Javier holding onto a fishing rod some twenty feet away. For his part, Javier only spared Arthur a brief, disinterested sideways glance before turning back to his line. When he began speaking, it was as if a chance encounter with Arthur at this secluded place was the most natural thing in the world.

“You know, I always liked this spot. Had trouble fishing when my arm was messed up after that fight at Horseshoe though.”

Arthur blinked hard one last time to convince himself he wasn’t hallucinating. He wet his dry lips before responding, trying to meet Javier’s nonchalant attitude. “I remember.” Javier lazily cranked the rod’s handle.

“Still, I snuck out here alone a few mornings when we were nearby. Liked that no one else seemed to know about it.” He paused, gave Arthur an unreadable expression, then continued, “You know, I only ever told two people about this place. People I thought were my friends.”

The word  _ thought _ there stood out like a warning, a precursor to danger ahead. It gave Arthur an immediate sense of unease. He rested his hands on his hips defensively on instinct.

“That so?” Javier nodded slowly.

“One of them was Hosea. He taught me how to fish, so I knew he’d appreciate it. ‘Our little secret,’ he called this.” A small smile found its way onto his face, brought on by the memory.

“And I was the only other one?”

Javier’s smile disappeared as soon as it had arrived. He had been cranking the rod this whole time, and Arthur realized he was winding up completely, hook and lure now out of the water. Javier lowered the rod onto the ground and leveled a serious look at Arthur.

“You were. Someone I thought was a friend,” he repeated.

Fighting back a sense of discomfort that shouldn’t be there, Arthur tried sounding unbothered at the dig. “We still are.”

“Are we? Funny, I didn’t think friends went missing for years when you needed them most. I didn’t think friends only showed up out of the blue when  _ they _ needed  _ your _ help,” Javier spat sarcastically. Arthur couldn’t help but wince.

“It weren’t like that-“

“Wasn’t it?,” he interrupted, robbing Arthur of his words. “I was alone for  _ years. _ Everyone who I thought had my back  _ vanished.” _

From Javier’s perspective, it was true, but it wasn’t the whole story. “We went lookin’ for you,” was all Arthur could offer however.

Javier began pacing back and forth with a limp near his spot by the water, but didn’t come closer, content to menace Arthur from a distance. “Well you didn’t find me. I lost everything. I lost my guns, I lost my horse...  _ almost _ lost my leg… I had to  _ beg _ for food until I could walk again. Then I busted my ass off in a mine for two years until Del Lobos swept through and killed all the bosses running the place. And what were the rest of you doing all that time? Living good off the Blackwater money and sending letters to each other to keep in touch!”

All Arthur could do in the face of those accusations was weakly repeat, “We tried to find you...”

“Well you  _ didn’t,” _ Javier bit back, voice dripping with hurt. “Not until Jack goes missing then all of a sudden you need my help again. And I  _ am _ sorry that kid got wrapped up in all of this, but don’t you think it’s funny how  _ that’s _ when you finally found me?”

It was true. All of that was true, and Javier had every right to be angry. But Arthur could get angry too, and he didn’t care for the insinuation that their separation had been on purpose, that the rest of the survivors conspired to cut Javier out of his fair share of the Blackwater money.

“Now hold on, I had no idea you were even in that fort, I  _ told _ you that!”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you showing up changed everything,” Javier threw right back.

Despite knowing it wouldn’t help the situation, Arthur plainly let his growing irritation show. “Look, you’re that mad at us? Fine. I get it. You want your cut of the Blackwater money and then ride off into the sunset? Never see any of us again? I won’t stop you. But that ain’t happenin’ until this mess with Milton is dealt with!,” he stressed.

Javier fixed an icy glare on him and raised his chin to stare down at Arthur with narrowed eyes. “I  _ have _ a plan to deal with Milton. If you’d just come with me when I asked you-”

“So you could turn me in to the Pinkertons at Dutch’s grave?”

The interruption served well to temporarily rob Javier of his fire. Neither of them spoke for a stretch after that, going so still as to be able to hear the gentle babbling of the nearby brook or the occasional fish breaking the surface of the pond.

Eventually, Javier very carefully asked, “How did you know about that?”

“Because that’s what I had to do to myself to save Bill’s dumb ass.” There was just the slightest twitch in Javier’s face at the admission.

“You saved him?”

“Shouldn’ta had to, but yeah. He’s…” Arthur stopped himself, thinking better of where he was going with that train of thought and instead went with, “He’s somewhere safe. I ain’t tellin’ you where, but he’s free now.” Raising a hand from his hip to point an accusing finger at Javier, he continued, “That was  _ low _ of you, Jav. Trickin’ him into makin’ peace like that.” Javier instantly began shaking his head.

“You saw what happened at Thieves’ Landing. He hates my guts now, he’ll stab me in the back first chance he gets!”

“So why do the same to me?,” Arthur challenged, volume growing in a slow crescendo of anger. “You think I was gonna stab you in the back too? Is that how low you think of me now?!”

Javier kept his cool and didn’t meet Arthur’s volume. “I think if you found me the first time, you could find me again.” Throwing his arms forward to gesture in Arthur’s direction, “And look, I was right.”

“I didn’t come here lookin’ for you.”

“No? Then why are you here?  _ Here, _ of all places?”

Personally, Arthur was looking forward to getting an hour or two of rest before going back to worrying about wherever Albert was, but now he was hesitant to even divulge that much to an unexpectedly belligerent Javier.

So he didn’t.

“I’m meetin’ somewhere here in a little bit.”

“Who?”

An uncomfortable and noticeable pause ensued.

“I ain’t tellin’ you.” Javier nodded slowly, but looked more displeased than satisfied with the answer.

“I thought we were friends.” More of a wistful and regretful statement than a question.

“Thought so too, Jav. But friends don’t lure each other into traps out in the woods.”

Javier shifted his position to run a hand over his mouth as he stared at the ground, resting the other closer to his holstered gun than Arthur felt comfortable with in that moment. When he looked back up to Arthur across the space between them, he admitted, “Maybe I didn’t want to worry about Bill coming after me anymore. Maybe I don’t wanna be found again. Maybe I just want to live my life the way I want, doing what I’m  _ good _ at. Maybe I don’t wanna be judged for turning back to crime by my old brothers who used to rob and steal  _ with _ me.  _ Maybe… _ maybe I don’t wanna worry about Milton anymore.”

With thinly veiled disgust, “So you made a  _ deal _ with him?” Javier replied without any hesitation.

“I did.”

“You made a deal with a  _ Pinkerton? _ You made a deal with the guy who shot your leg and gave you a limp?”

Javier scowled at the memory of that botched train robbery, the swan song of the Van der Linde gang that Micah ensured was doomed before it even began.

“Shut up.”

“You made a deal with the guy who forced us outta Horseshoe? When you got shot the  _ first _ time?”

Javier clenched his fists at his sides and bared his teeth, but said nothing.

“You made a deal with the guy  _ who killed Hosea?!” _

Finally, this was too much.

“You got a problem with me, Arthur?!,” Javier shouted. He took a wide stance, facing Arthur directly, hands hovering at his sides in an unmistakable threat. “Well I’m right here. Do something about it!”

Regret instantly flooded Arthur’s mind; he let his temper get the better of him and now he was about to get into a quickdraw against one of his oldest friends, a man he had once considered almost as much of a brother as he did John. And beyond that, a further realization seized his chest.

_ This is exactly what Milton wanted to happen. _

He faced Javier properly, but crossed his arms and shook his head, denying the challenge.

“No.”

“Draw!”

“No!”

_ “Draw!” _

_ “No!” _

Javier’s hand shot down and grabbed his gun.

Arthur exhaled.

Again, the world slowed to a crawl as it was robbed of color and logic. With dilated eyes blown wide, Arthur watched Javier ready his revolver and bring it up with a steady and comfortable grip as only a veteran outlaw could. So fluid was the motion that Arthur wasn’t sure he’d be able to outdraw Javier if he’d wanted to, heightened reflexes notwithstanding. Yet even as he found himself staring down the wrong end of a gun, Arthur didn’t so much as flinch, hoping that this would not be his final gamble.

Javier’s body locked into picture-perfect form in anticipation of fan-firing six bullets into Arthur, which he could easily do at this range.

But he did not.

Arthur inhaled.

He resisted reaching for his temple in the wake of the sudden rush of pain that always accompanied leaving that heightened state. Instead, he opted to wince silently and narrow his eyes at Javier. The other man looked irate and was clearly frustrated that Arthur had not drawn against him to justify the escalation.

Javier glowered at him. Then he pivoted and fired three rounds with impressive speed into the water, as if to prove that he could.

“God  _ dammit!,” _ he cried. But the gun was quickly shoved back into its place at his side and Javier turned away from Arthur, no longer able to look at him.

It was still an incredibly tense atmosphere that contrasted horribly with the natural beauty of the space, and it threatened to taint Arthur’s memory of it. He was too focused on Javier to even spare a passing glance at the surface of the water. Instead he waited. Waited, and when he sensed that there were no more words coming, he did the only thing that made sense to him.

Arthur stepped forward.

Javier instantly snapped his head and began watching him out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t enough to deter him however, and a few delicate and intentionally slow footsteps later, never breaking eye contact, Arthur was at his side. When he reached forward with a comforting hand however, Javier promptly slapped it away and jabbed a finger in his face.

“No. You don’t get to come out of this looking like the good guy. I don’t want your  _ pity.” _

“I ain’t lookin’ like anything to anyone, it’s just us out here.” As if to make sure of that statement, Arthur quickly swept his eyes around the vicinity but saw nothing. “Unless you got your boys hidin’ nearby.” It would certainly explain the unusual bravado if Javier was trying to appear tough in front of his lackeys.

Instead, Javier sighed and surprised him with the answer. “They’re not my boys anymore.”

Arthur drew his brows together in confusion. “Come again?”

Javier paused, but sneered down at the ground, likely realizing that the cat was out of the bag. “They left me. All of those guys I brought out here with me.”

“Why?”

“They didn’t like being so far away from home. Didn’t like doing jobs that didn’t bring in easy money, didn’t understand what I was trying to do. Guess I didn’t command as much loyalty as I thought.” His tone was acerbic, but it wasn’t directed at Arthur this time.

“So… what, they ran back to Fort Mercer?”

“Probably.” Arthur uneasily shifted his weight and turned to face the same direction Javier was looking, hoping he would take it as the sort of tacit sign of peace that it was. Only then did Arthur catch sight of the dead fish floating on the pond’s surface that Javier had shot. Smallmouth bass from the looks of it, big ones too.

“You gonna follow them?,” he asked. Javier huffed dismissively.

“I’m as good as dead if I go back there. Bet you some hot shot’s already claimed my place a week after I left. That’s how it goes out there.” A pause, then, quieter, “I got nothing again...”

“You got me.” The words automatically fell out of his mouth before he knew he was saying them, but for once Arthur didn’t regret it. He didn’t need to look to his right to feel Javier’s confused gaze fall over him.

“Even after that just now?  _ Why?” _

Arthur sniffed and shrugged like it was no big deal. “I always had your back, Javier.” Then, turning to meet his friend’s eyes, “Just didn’t know where you were for a bit there.” Javier’s expressions quickly cycled through contempt to skepticism to relief then back to guarded caution.

“You’re serious?”

Solemnly, “Haven’t we lost enough friends already? I don’t wanna go addin’ you to that list too.”

Javier studied him for a moment before breaking out into a careful grin. “Shit, you really did get old, if you’re talking like that.” Arthur didn’t even attempt to hide his eye roll, but it was in good nature and there was a brief, warm moment reminiscent of the old times between them. That warmth soon evaporated when Javier looked back to the pond and continued softly, “I mean, we certainly have lost a lot of people. But…”

_ But you’re still mad. _

Intending to cut him off before he got riled up again, Arthur cut in, “Look, I ain’t gonna make you do nothin’ you don’t want to. Just stop talkin’ to Milton.” He thought about it, then added, “And leave Bill alone; poor man’s barely still breathin’ after what the Pinkertons did to us.”

That last word caught Javier by surprise. “‘Us?’”

With a distressed sigh, Arthur rolled up his shirt sleeves and undid the top two buttons of his shirt, exposing multiple bruises around his wrists, arms and neck.

“Lot more where that came from, too,” he gruffed.

Sounding genuinely remorseful, Javier muttered,  _ “Shit. _ What’d they do to you?”

Arthur rolled his sleeves back down, scowling at the ground.

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

There was silence for a stretch. Silence, save for the occasional bird call in the distance or gentle rustling of leaves in the wind. Summer was long gone however, and this place didn’t seem anything at all like it did the last time Arthur was here, that perfect day he would always cherish the memory of.

Finally, Javier spoke. “Maybe I made a mistake. I mean, I didn’t want Bill to  _ die, _ I just didn’t want to worry about him anymore. Figured sending him off to jail would do the trick.”

“Milton’s out for blood, jail was never really in the cards. Only place they were gonna send us to was a hole six feet under,” Arthur responded tersely. “Probably would’ve too if Charles hadn’t shown up when he did.”

It took a beat for the statement to register, but when it did, Javier snapped his head up to his left. “Wait,  _ Charles _ helped you save Bill? Charles  _ Smith?”  _ He knew about their history as much as everyone else in the gang did. Arthur glanced at him from the corner of his eye with a look he hoped came off as disappointed and not provoking.

“We’re all lookin’ out for each other through this. Just like the old days.”

_ All of us except you _ went left unsaid, but Javier heard it all the same. He quickly tore his eyes away, hopefully out of guilt and not more anger.

“I… I need to think about some things.” He lingered for a moment before bending down to grab his fishing rod and turning back up a different slope, likely the way he came. Arthur twisted around in place to watch him.

“You comin’ back?” Javier slowed and stopped.

“Should I? I don’t wanna interrupt your meeting with this mystery person.” It was a half-serious jab, but Arthur didn’t want to risk losing the progress he’d made; honesty seemed the best option here.

“It’s Al. Albert. The guy who was with me in Rhodes,” he explained. Javier nodded, but still appeared confused.

“Who  _ is _ that guy? How’d I never hear of him before and now both you and John trust him so much?”

Who was Albert to Arthur? It was no small question, but rather than gush about the love of his life and knowing their usual alibi of being cousins would work on Javier, Arthur had a moment of cowardice and went with an easy lie.

“He’s a good friend of mine.  _ Ours,” _ he quickly corrected.

“Do you trust him more than me?” There was that unexpected tone of danger in Javier’s voice again, which apparently could appear out of thin air. Arthur tried to remember if he’d always been like that and he’d just forgotten, but before he could respond Javier continued, “You now what? Don’t answer that, I  _ did _ just pull a gun on you. Bet you he never tried to pull a quick draw on you...”

Arthur chuckled weakly, but chose not to address that comment.

Instead he went with, “Well after you’re done thinkin’, we’re headed over to meet Sadie and Charles out by our old spot by the lake. Sure Sadie’d get a kick outta seein’ you.”

Javier briefly looked back up towards the hill - Boaz was likely hitched somewhere out of sight - before turning his eyes back to the ground at his feet and nodding.

“I’ll think on it. And I’m sorry, Arthur, I… I wasn’t thinking.” Arthur waved him off, as if almost being riddled with bullets was no big deal.

“I shouldn’ta said what I said,” he replied. That didn’t seem to do enough to placate Javier however, and he looked down at the fishing rod in his hand shamefully.

“It’s true though, I  _ did _ make a deal with Milton.  _ Dios mio, _ what would Hosea say?...”

That, Arthur had an easy answer for. “He’d call all of us dumbasses, for different reasons. Probably be right, too.” Javier shared a chuckle with him over that.

“Yeah, that sounds right. Well… I’m gonna head out, maybe I’ll see you around. If not, dinner’s on me.”

The quip would have gone over Arthur’s head entirely had Javier not pointed back to the water behind him. He followed the gesture to eye the fish that’d be easy enough to pull out of the shallow body of water. When he turned back around, Javier was well on his way to cresting the hill with that new distinctive limp and seconds later he was completely out of sight.

* * *

_ 9/26/04 _

_ At least I can still use my hands to write after everything I went through. _

_ Got Bill back to  _ _ Doctor _ _ Nate in one piece, even if he had one foot in the grave by the time we got back to Saint Denis. Also saved  _ _ Miss Grimshaw _ _ of all people. Seems more and more folk keep getting dragged into this mess Milton’s made. _

_ I hope Albert does not become one of them. _

_ [Half-finished sketch of a pond in a wooded area.] _

* * *

It was extremely uncharacteristic of Arthur to fall asleep out in the wild like this, let alone in the middle of the day,  _ let alone _ with his journal splayed open in his lap. If nothing else, it was a sign of how draining the past few days had been and how his body could not handle being put through so much punishment anymore. At least there was still the latent instinct that allowed him to snap awake at the sound of approaching hoofbeats. 

Quickly blinking the sleep out of his eyes and snapping the journal shut, Arthur assessed the area. Still at the watering hole, seated with his back to a large tree as he remembered, but the sun had shifted its place in the sky. When his eyes settled on the source that pulled him from his sleep he almost gasped aloud with relief.

Albert lazily threw Penny’s lead around a sapling in a poor attempt at hitching the animal, likely trusting that she wouldn’t go far on her own. He pivoted in time to catch Arthur rise to his feet and skip over the small stream that separated them with a pained grunt. They studied each other for a moment over a distance, both afraid to close the gap for some reason. Albert looked unkempt in a way he normally didn’t allow himself to get, but not visibly injured, thankfully. He also had his hair neatly trimmed since Arthur last saw him.

“Hey,” Arthur started, breathily. Albert gave him a concerned look, no doubt in response to the various visible bruises Arthur couldn’t easily conceal.

“Hey,” he replied with a curt nod.

“I like your haircut.” Albert huffed and humbly ran a hand through his hair, smiling softly.

“Thank you.”

“Didn’t know we had money for haircuts still,” Arthur teased.

Waving a finger dismissively, “I actually didn’t pay for it.”

“Is that why they only shaved half your neck?”

Albert visibly tried coming up with a retort, and gave up halfway through it out of sheer exhaustion. He merely shook his head and walked towards Arthur.

“Please stop talking.”

And he did. He knew Albert could quip and sass with the best of them, but neither of them truly had their hearts in it at that moment. Instead, he let Albert nearly bowl him over with the force with which he embraced Arthur. That deceptive physical strength surprised him and Arthur found himself squeezing back just as tight, as if terrified to let go. He ran a hand through Albert’s trimmed hair on the back of his head and felt a steady tremble rock the both of them. At first he thought Albert was coughing, or laughing into his neck, but Arthur soon realized it was his own body quaking with emotion.

His mind flashed back to the night in that house, when the ‘volunteers’ took turns exacting their own personal acts of vengeance on Arthur. How it was only the thoughts and memories of the man he now held in his arms that gave him the strength to endure the ordeal. How easy it would have been to succumb to that experience and give up had Arthur never met that naive nature photographer who was bested by a coyote all those years ago.

So Arthur let his breath hitch with emotion, let his chest sputter, let the tears he didn’t know he was holding onto finally fall. Albert merely held onto him tighter, content to be his pillar, his anchor, his entire foundation all at once in that moment.

They did not part for a while.

Finally, when Arthur was able to manage some semblance of control over himself, Albert pulled back but still kept a firm grip with both hands on Arthur’s sides. His own reddened eyes quickly fell to the bruises around Arthur’s neck that Ross had left.

“Do I want to know?...”

Arthur swallowed painfully and replied with a voice hoarser than he was expecting. “Probably not.” Albert drew his mouth into a tight line.

“Well what happened? Loosely.”

Instinctively Arthur looked around their surroundings for any threats or would-be eavesdroppers as he gathered his thoughts. He saw nothing concerning though, and let his eyes fall back to the man in front of him.

“Got kidnapped by Pinkertons. Thought I was gonna die. Managed to escape... Bill’s safe now though.”

Albert’s eyebrows slowly rose with surprise, but he met the summary with a simple, “Oh… Well that’s good.”

“What about you?” Albert thought about it and actually surprised Arthur with a chuckle.

“Got kidnapped by Pinkertons. Thought I was going to die. Managed to escape.”

It was Arthur’s turn to be stunned. “Wow.”

“Indeed. Oh, and Jack is safe with Abigail and John now,” Albert added nonchalantly. Arthur needed a few moments for that to truly sink in.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Albert repeated playfully. There was a slight bit of mischief in the delivery, but this wasn’t the sort of thing Albert would joke lightly about, so Arthur was inclined to believe him.

“You wanna talk about it?” The question seemed to drain the energy out of Albert in real time if his immediate reaction was anything to go by.

“Not right now,” he admitted.

“Okay,” Arthur allowed. Albert finally pulled away from him completely, looking back at the small stream Arthur had jumped over to greet him.

“Right now, I just want to relax, maybe rest my feet for a bit.” Arthur also looked back at the stream and understood.

“Mind if I join you?,” he asked. Albert gave him that warm smile he feared he’d never see again.

“Not at all. I always feel better with you at my side.”

Together they approached the water's edge and shucked off their boots and socks before submerging their feet to rest in the cool current. It wasn’t the exact spot that they had sat at all those years ago, when Arthur had asked that question that would change both of their lives, but it was close enough to evoke the memory.

It wasn’t exactly the same however.

“I don’t remember it bein’ this chilly...”

“Okay, so it’s not just me,” Albert immediately agreed, yanking his wet feet out of the water. Arthur chuckled as he followed suit.

“Guess it  _ was _ the dead of summer last time we were here…”

“Well let’s not catch a cold trying to be romantic.” Albert shook out his feet in an attempt to dry them and passed Arthur his socks and boots.

“What, you don’t wanna take care of me ‘through sickness and health?’,” he quipped.

“Abso _ lutely _ not; you’re worse than a moody child when you get sick...”

Arthur threw his dirty socks and managed to hit Albert in the face with them.

* * *

Reflections of the campfire’s flames played in Albert’s eyes as he stared out through the tent’s open flap. Arthur was content to watch them from his position, half of his face resting on Albert’s chest, slowly rising and falling with each breath. But behind that facsimile of fire was a mind that never stopped churning, and whatever it was working over in that moment didn’t seem to be bringing the photographer any comfort.

“Can hear you thinkin’ from here,” Arthur murmured. Albert blinked and looked down at his husband.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Nah, just restin’ my eyes a bit,” he answered while fighting back a yawn. Albert looked back up and out of the tent at the small fire some twenty feet away.

“Well I think Sadie said she was going to take the first watch, so you might as well try to get  _ some _ sleep.”

“I don’t mind stayin’ up with you,” he admitted.

_ I missed you _ was the unheard message there.

It wasn’t particularly late, but the sun had set completely and they were both tired from explaining. Albert, explaining what had happened in the barbershop, how he’d freed Jack and what happened with John and Agent Burns; Arthur, explaining - loosely - that first night with the volunteers, Charles’ and Sadie’s heroics, why they spent last night in the Hotel Grand and why the fish they were eating had bullets in them.

Javier had not shown up. Arthur tried not to think about that.

Instead he rolled off of Albert, onto his side so they were level, and asked, “What’s on your mind?” Albert did not take his gaze off of the fire as he replied.

“Henry Wilton,” he stated without emotion.

“The barber? What about him?”

“I’m thinking about what I did to him.” Arthur scratched his jaw as he summoned up the recap Albert had given him and Sadie about two hours ago.

“You choked him ‘til he passed out, right?”

With a distant expression, like his mind was still elsewhere, “I believe he was still breathing, yes. Though I might’ve been imagining it in the moment, I’m not sure.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “Well, uh… speakin’ from  _ experience, _ it takes a lot longer than you’d think to choke the life outta someone for good. So I don’t think you killed the guy.”

“I may as well have,” Albert responded quietly, but Arthur didn’t follow.

“What makes you say that?”

“I closed the door behind us and set the lock before we left.” Arthur frowned in confusion.

“Okay, so maybe that set him back a bit. I bet you he tried breakin’ the door down when he finally came to.” Albert immediately began shaking his head and finally looked over at Arthur on his left.

“You didn’t see this door. It looked like it belonged in a bank vault. You’d need three sticks of dynamite to even put a dent in it.”

Arthur found that to be a touch excessive to hold a nine-year-old boy in place.

“Maybe someone’ll come along and let him out once they realize he’s missing,” he suggested. Again, Albert seemed doubtful.

“He had a tenant that saw us escaping, but he didn’t even know Jack was being held upstairs, didn’t recognize him. I don’t think anyone knew that door was up there save for Henry, Milton and Burns, let alone who knew the combination to open it.”

The pieces were falling into place for Arthur; with Burns dead and Milton halfway across the country trying to suss out what had happened at that house outside Van Horn, Henry was trapped in a prison of his own making. He found a sickly satisfying sort of irony to that, but Arthur kept that to himself.

“Maybe… maybe he had a key or somethin’ on him? Some way to get out if he got stuck inside like that?”

Frowning, Albert cast his gaze back outside of the tent. “I considered that. But as much as it pains me to say it, I hope that’s not the case.” Arthur understood why.

“It’d be easier if he stayed in there,” he stated. Albert nodded regretfully before rubbing a hand over his eyes in shame.

“But is that right of me to want that? To condemn a man to starve to death out of a matter of  _ convenience?” _

“He wasn’t exactly a saint, I mean you saw what he was doin’ to Jack,” Arthur pointed out.

“I know but-“

“He woulda done the same to you. Al, you did what you had to to get outta there.  _ And _ you got Jack back to his family? Hell, I’m  _ proud _ of you.” Instantly Albert shot him a pained, almost irritated look Arthur had rarely been the target of.

_ That wasn’t the right thing to say. _

“There’s no pride to be had in what I did,” he said with disgust.

Arthur threw up his hands in a yielding motion and tried to backtrack. “Maybe not, but it was the right thing to do. I woulda done the same.”

“But I don’t want to be-“ Albert abruptly cut himself off and turned his head away, not even bothering with the fire outside, instead settling on the other side of the small tent they shared.

They’d been around each other too long at this point to not understand where that was going.

“You don’t wanna be a killer like me,” Arthur mumbled after a moment. There was hurt in the delivery, but he wasn’t offended.

Still avoiding eye contact, “I didn’t say that.”

“You were gonna.”

Albert said nothing, now seemingly having a new reason to be embarrassed at himself. So Arthur reached out and rested a hand on Albert’s thigh, giving it a gentle reassuring squeeze.

“And I agree.”

Albert turned, only able to look at Arthur with the corner of one eye.

“I didn’t want that to be something we had in common. But here we are. Sometimes the right thing don’t feel like the right thing. But you brought two families back together.” Albert cocked an eyebrow in confusion.

“Two?”

“The Marstons and me ‘n you. You’re  _ my _ family.”

Albert let his eyes slide down to the hand resting on his leg, then covered it with his own, both of their rings making a gentle sound as they contacted each other.

“I hadn’t considered that.” Arthur rotated his wrist up so they could hold hands, going so far as to reach over with his other hand and hold Albert’s with both of his own to strengthen the gesture.

“If you were still locked away in that room... I wouldn’ta known what to do. Hell, I was worried sick  _ today _ thinkin’ you weren’t gonna show up at that pond.” Something that was neither a smile nor a frown flashed across Albert’s face.

“I promised you I would.”

“And I know you’re good for your word. You always tell me, ‘Do what you need to to come back in one piece; I’ll understand.’ You think that doesn’t go both ways?”

“It never had to before,” Albert was quick to point out.

“No, but it does now. And I understand you’re torn up about what happened, but I won’t think any less of you for it. And I hope you don’t neither.”

Albert worked his jaw silently, clearly wrestling with the matter, and no doubt would be for the next few days. But Arthur had said his peace and this was Albert’s battle with himself to fight now. After a few silent moments, he nodded once.

“Thank you.” They stayed like that for a bit before Albert reclined again and pulled Arthur back over his body, falling into their earlier position which Arthur resumed without complaint. Sensing that the moment of vulnerability had passed, or at least there was nothing more to be gained from stressing over the matter, Arthur tried to bring some levity to the dour mood of the tent.

“On the other hand, maybe he  _ did _ get out. Maybe he’s prowlin’ around Blackwater waitin’ for you to show up again so he can return the favor.”

“Well I’ve already decided to stop soliciting his services. Maybe I’ll have to start asking Abigail to cut my hair,” Albert said with a bemused air.

“She already does a better job trimmin’ me up than you. Cheaper than that guy, too.”

With a tone of offense that Arthur genuinely couldn’t tell if it was feigned or not, Albert contested, “Hey, I’m not  _ that _ bad…”

“You remember that first time you cut my hair?”

“I’ve gotten better since then! You always wear a hat anyways, I still don’t see what the big deal was...,” Albert complained, running his fingers through Arthur’s hair affectionately as he did so.

“Maybe you should do it like that again and I’ll just walk up to Milton; maybe he’ll keel over laughin’ just from lookin’ at me.”

“Gee, why didn’t we think of that sooner?,” Albert deadpanned as Arthur’s chest rumbled at his own joke.

* * *

Morning brought with it a chill off the lake that apparently not even southern Lemoyne was immune from. It would burn off as the sun reached higher into the sky, but with each passing day it was taking longer and longer for that to occur as they slid into autumn proper. There was a special kind of humidity to it, one that seeped into Arthur’s clothes but was more cool than damp, and he knew it wouldn’t linger all day like a summer mugginess would.

_ At least it beats bein’ in a swamp. _

Arthur was seated at the nearby dock that hadn’t been maintained well at all. It was a favorite spot of his, especially in the mornings, when the gang was stationed here, but he never saw the surface of Flat Iron Lake so flat and so covered in rolling mists as it was this morning. A shuffling sound and some gentle conversation behind him informed him that Sadie and Albert were finally awake, so he stood up with a grunt. He made his way back over to the smoldering remains of last night’s fire, smelling it before he saw it. Sadie was seated, taking a moment before packing away her bedroll, likely because they hadn’t really set out a plan for this day yet. Albert was just sitting at the entrance of their tent looking like he could use a comb, a wash, and an entire pot of coffee for himself.

“Mornin’, handsome,” Arthur purred at him. Albert was wholly unamused.

“Why don’t you ever call me that when I  _ feel _ handsome?”

“You’re always handsome to me, I just say it when I think you need to hear it.”

“Awww…,” Sadie swooned from her spot. Albert immediately waved a finger at her.

“No, don’t you encourage him. He’s just trying to get back on my good side after insulting my hair-cutting skills last night.”

Sadie grinned, but relented. “That don’t got nothing to do with me, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to sort that out.” Leaning back onto her hands to look up at him, she asked, “So what’re we doing today, Arthur?”

It was an inevitable question he knew was coming, but Arthur still didn’t have a ready answer for it. He struck his thumbs through his belt loops and looked around, as if there was an answer hiding in the morning fog or among the nearby trees. He didn’t find one.

“Honestly? Think we should just hang tight here ‘til Charles comes back. Maybe Javier’ll show up, who knows? But maybe between all of us, we can come up with something.”

“You didn’t have any ideas of what to do next after saving Bill?,” Albert asked from the ground.

“Well I was kinda hoping  _ you _ would’ve found out something from Milton before I realized you were walkin’ into a trap.” It wasn’t meant as an insult, but Albert still winced at it. Fortunately, Sadie immediately moved the conversation along.

“Well Jack’s free now, right? Why don’t we just find Milton and-,” she mimicked firing a rifle,  _ “deal _ with him? I bet you he’s back at that house right now.”

“You sound like Javier…,” Arthur groaned. It wasn’t the worst idea, but it wasn’t the best either. “I doubt he’s gonna hang around there long anyway, and we won’t make it back to there from here before then.”

“We’d also be leaving Charles in the dark if he came here and saw the place empty. Unless we left someone behind?...,” Albert suggested. Arthur immediately shot it down.

“I don’t wanna split up again, it’s gettin’ too dangerous.”

“Well where would he go after leaving that house?,” Sadie asked.

“Possibly… back to his office in Saint Denis?,” Albert guessed. “Or maybe even back to Blackwater if he’s expecting to hear back from Agent Burns and never gets a response. I agree with Arthur however; Milton doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who stays in one place for too long.”

Sadie frowned, but didn’t contest the fact. “Well then we make him come to us,” she said definitively. Arthur pulled a face and shook his head.

“And then what? Right now he’s just out for personal revenge it sounds like. If we kill him, we risk gettin’ the law actually involved.”

“Well you got a better idea?,” she snapped. Before he could snipe back, Albert interjected, holding his forehead like it was far too early to be arguing like this.

“Okay, what does Milton actually have going for him right now? Jack’s free, Miss Grimshaw’s free, Bill’s free. What does he actually  _ have?,” _ he asked.

“A bunch of volunteers followin’ him around.”

“And he knows where John lives,” Sadie added. That seemed to be it, so Albert continued, gears in his head already slowly spinning to life so early in the morning.

“Alright. So obviously he’s going to have some people watching John’s place at all times. But these men, it doesn’t sound like he’s paying them. Certainly didn’t get the impression that he was paying Henry to keep a child hidden away in his attic…,” his voice trailed off.

“Reckon the only one’s gettin’ paid were the agents. Ross, Fordham and Burns,” Arthur said. Albert stroked his beard with that distant look on his face and slowly nodded.

“So how about we undercut his support? Convince the volunteers to ditch Milton, then go back to Beecher’s Hope to force a confrontation.”

“What do you mean by ‘confrontation?’,” Sadie asked. Albert adjusted his posture uncomfortably and shrugged.

“Well, ideally he’d be in such a weakened position by that point that he’d walk away and leave John and the rest of you alone. But if not, maybe… we kidnap him? Blackmail him? I’m not sure.”

_ “I’m _ sure…” Sadie certainly seemed to be itching for a fight with the man for whatever reason, but Arthur directed a more relevant question at Albert.

“How do we undercut him? We already took away his source of money after killin’ that whackjob in Valentine.”

“We weren’t accounting for the fact that he had men working for him that literally were not being paid though. They were just in it for their own revenge as well.”

“And they won’t stop until you boys are dead,” Sadie sneered.

Albert froze, then straightened up and threw his hands wide, as if that were the answer, looking between his two friends.

“So we kill all the names on the list.”

Another pause.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the man. “...You feelin’ alright, Al? Maybe you should eat somethin’ first.” That earned him an eye roll, but Albert launched into his explanation.

“Milton gave you, John and Charles individual lists with everyone else’s names on them, right? He  _ wanted _ you to turn on each other, tear each other apart with in-fighting, and then he’d focus on whoever was left standing because his end goal was always revenge, not collecting your bounties or sending you to jail. But what if it  _ appears _ that his plan works? That there’s only one of you left?”

“Milton wouldn’t need a whole army of volunteers to take down one guy,” Sadie realized. Albert pointed at her like a teacher taking pride in a student’s assumption.

“Precisely. Especially if the last one standing is John, who’d come right back home and into Milton’s hands. And these volunteers can’t stay away from their jobs indefinitely, eventually they have to go back to their lives, right?”

Arthur kicked at the dirt under his feet, still feeling like he was missing something. “So how do we do that? I don’t  _ actually _ wanna shoot Charles or Bill.” Again, Albert gestured as if the answer were obvious.

“We fake it. Highly public, high-profile shootouts that lots of people see, and then we… I don’t know... fake the deaths in ways that wouldn’t leave a body behind.”

“How would these volunteers find out about it though?,” Sadie prompted. Albert grinned mischievously.

“Maybe an ‘anonymous photographer’ who happens to be nearby catches a photo or two of the incident and sends them in to all the major newspapers. Sure, it’s been five years, but I’m willing to bet the death of any of the Van der Lindes would be front-page news. At least for a day or two.”

It seemed like a stretch, having fake shootouts in the middle of town and creating a media buzz to convince Milton and his followers that his plan was actually working. But nothing about the situation they were in was ordinary, and maybe they needed a crazy idea like this to get out of it. At any rate, Arthur was always better at carrying out plans rather than coming up with them, so it wasn’t really his place to shoot it down outright. But he could at least poke holes in it until he was comfortable with it.

He raised his head and leveled what he thought was a fair question at Albert. “If we’re sloppy with this, if we’re not careful… won’t Milton think it’s staged?”

A dark expression fell across Albert’s face that Arthur didn’t recognize, as if the matter of Milton was now deeply personal to the photographer as well.

“Milton will get what I give him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that finally puts this work over the total word count of Summer of ‘99. Remember when I thought this one was gonna be shorter? Hah. Ha ha.
> 
> So Javier was feeling a way about things. I mentioned it back when I first re-introduced him in this work, but he had a very different post-gang experience here compared to canon. From his perspective, everyone scattered to the winds to avoid the Pinkertons, and he went through a rough five years all alone. I imagine someone in that scenario would feel pretty slighted to find out that not only did all your old friends keep in touch without you, but they also shared a big stack of cash between them, part of which was rightfully yours. Going further to realize that the one friend you did escape with (Bill) not only survived but completely mis-remembered your last encounter together would probably go a long way towards making you reevaluate things. My intention was never to have Javier as an outright antagonist in this story so much as someone whose motives and goals were slightly different from everyone else’s to the point that you couldn’t really be sure where he stood. Hopefully I managed that level of nuance with him.
> 
> Also, it’s weird writing a scene that’s supposed to be taking place in late September when I’m actually in late October because that makes me imagine the scene to be colder than it actually would be.
> 
> Not sure when the next one’s going up, but hopefully this was a good update to sink your time into. As always, let me know your thoughts; I read every single comment and they make my day.


	21. Battle in the Bayou

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert enacts his plan. A second name on John's list dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Public Service Announcement suggesting that you get on a stepladder and clean the top of your refrigerator; it’s worse than you imagine up there, trust me.
> 
> So I learned recently that there’s a weird grammatical error I’ve been making for pretty much my entire life? It has to do when a character’s line of dialogue ends in a question mark or an exclamation point, but that’s also not the end of the sentence. For example, this:
> 
> “You’ve been in Denver two years now, haven’t you?” he asked.
> 
> would be correct, but this:
> 
> “You’ve been in Denver two years now, haven’t you?,” he asked.
> 
> is technically wrong. See the extra comma in the second example? It shouldn’t be there. But I’ve been writing that way for so long that the “correct” way feels wrong to me, so I’m just… gonna… keep doing it that way…
> 
> Also, stream “Positions” on Spotify.
> 
> This chapter picks up three days after where we left off.

“Voudriez-vous plus d’eau?” Albert looked up at the waiter holding the pitcher of water and politely declined.

“Non, merci.”

“Vos repas seront bientôt prêts,” the waiter announced to the trio, as if they could all understand him. Albert pulled a tight smile and nodded, signaling that they wanted to be left alone with his body language.

“Merci, garçon.”

The waiter took the pitcher with him and did some rounds at the other tables in the small restaurant on the first floor of the Hôtel la Licorne. Arthur and Albert had been here dozens of times before, but this was Nate’s first visit. He’d barely glanced at the lunch menu, and judging by his crossed arms and the persistent scowl on his face ever since he sat down across from them, he had no intention to. That didn’t stop Albert from encouraging him however.

“Are you sure you don’t want to order anything? I’m more than willing to take a stab at translating,” he offered.

“That won’t be necessary; I wasn’t planning on staying long,” was Nate’s terse reply. Arthur figured it was a wonder at all that the doctor had agreed to meet with them if this was the attitude he was going to take. Still, he didn’t want to risk upsetting the man and having him storm out before they even got started.

“How’s he holdin’ up?,” Arthur carefully asked. Nate panned his gaze over to him, allowing an almost imperceptible amount of tension to leave his face.

“He’s stable, _barely._ As you can imagine, I’m extremely uncomfortable leaving him alone in his present state.”

“But you _did_ come here,” Arthur pointed out.

“I did.”

“So you read the letter?,” Albert asked.

“I did,” Nate repeated, but left it at that. Arthur was left to try prying more out of him after the pause.

“...And?”

“And I came here to tell you ‘absolutely not.’ In _no_ reality is Ben healthy enough to stage a fake shootout in public; did you _really_ think I’d let him do something like that?,” he snapped, plainly letting his indignation show. Arthur’s temper flared, but he didn’t want to make a scene here; he actually kind of liked this restaurant compared to most of the other venues in the city.

Arthur leaned forward onto the table and murmured, “So you came all the way over here just to tell us that?” To his credit, Nate didn’t flinch or back down, but he did take a breath to calm himself.

“I came here to tell you that I don’t hate the idea overall, but Ben won’t be taking part in it.”

“So how the hell’re we supposed to convince people he’s dead if you won’t even let him outta that room?,” Arthur asked, voice colored with a growing irritation.

Holding a finger up, Nate reached down into his doctor’s supply bag that was resting on the floor at his side. After some rummaging around, he removed, then placed on an open space of the table, Bill’s recognizable hat, and his leather trench coat folded under it.

“You want Ben-...” Nate caught himself, then lowered his voice, “You want _Bill Williamson_ dead? ‘Kill’ him yourself.”

It wasn’t much of a disguise, but it _was_ Bill’s favorite hat; Arthur had scarcely seen the man without it during the gang’s active years, and even recalled seeing a wanted poster or two depicting Bill wearing it. That’s also why he wasn’t surprised to see Bill sporting it that first night at Bonnie’s ranch. Arthur expected the man wore it so often in order to hide a receding hairline, but he himself could certainly understand an attachment to a piece of headwear.

Looking back up to Nate, as if needing permission to even reach out for the clothes, “Does he know you’re doing this?”

“No, and for the moment, I intend to keep it that way,” Nate admitted. “Though I suppose once the news hits the papers, he’ll figure out I had a hand in it, but... you let _me_ handle that.”

“Once the story breaks, you two might want to lay low for a while,” Albert finally spoke up. Nate’s tight expression finally gave way to discomfort.

“I know. And as lovely as the Hotel Grand is, I certainly wasn’t expecting to be paying those prices for as long as we have been…” Albert’s face lit up and he seized on the opportunity to offer a recommendation.

“The Licorne here is a fine establishment for its rates; it’s our favorite place to stay in the city.”

 _It’s the_ only _place we’ve ever stayed…_ , Arthur thought, but he wasn’t about to steal the man’s thunder.

Nate rested his elbows on the table and folded his hands together. He gave Albert a strange look.

“Mister Mason… _Albert._ You are a fantastic conversationalist and I have found a fast friend in you, so please don’t take this the wrong way. After visiting a local establishment in this city on your recommendation, I _highly_ question your judgment in such matters.”

Albert blinked a few times.

“And which establishment was that?”

“A miserable place called ‘Doyle’s’ that had the audacity to market itself as a tavern.”

Arthur took a sip from his glass of water and looked away, out the closest window to hide his smirk.

“Wh- what did you think of it?,” Albert tentatively asked, already knowing the answer.

“I think I’d be hard-pressed to ever set foot in that place again.” The exchange clearly caught Albert off guard, but he tried finding his words again.

“I’ll admit, it’s a bit of an acquired taste-”

“I will do some of my _own_ research,” Nate interrupted, “and move Ben into a cheaper hotel; I still don’t think he has the strength to leave the city proper yet and Arthur here dissuaded me from taking the Blackwater ferry anytime soon.”

“Still think it's smart to hang off on that,” Arthur agreed, nodding.

“Then I shall refrain from doing so, much as I’d like to return home. I just hope my other regular patients in Armadillo are managing without me…” Nate let himself lose focus for a moment, likely running through his mental roster of clients back home with a frown. But he soon blinked and continued, “Nevertheless, I’ve spoken my mind and I leave the matter in your very capable hands. Gentlemen.”

Rather abruptly, he rose from his seat, closed his bag and gave the two of them a courteous nod before turning on his heel and exiting the restaurant. He hadn’t even touched his water. The two of them were left flabbergasted at the encounter, but of course Albert was the first to speak afterwards.

“Well, never let it be said he doesn’t care about his patients…,” he grumbled. Arthur chuckled at that.

Knowing full well who was going to end up playing the role of “Bill,” Arthur reached forward and grabbed the complimentary bread roll that was left out for Nate.

_Might as well bulk up now, make it more convincing._

* * *

_Click_

Albert straightened his posture and stretched out his back as he took a step back from his tripod. There was sufficient daylight, what with it being only mid-morning, so at least he wouldn’t be wasting flash powder, though he probably should be a bit more conservative with his film overall. On the other hand, he couldn’t _not_ snap a few self-indulgent shots of the quaint huts and charming houseboats that were just dripping with as much character as they were with humidity. Wildlife photography would always be his main passion, but capturing images of distinct architecture like that abandoned church outside of Rhodes was a close second. He’d heard of Lagras plenty of times before but he was ashamed to say that this was his first time in the town proper.

Which is probably why the woman who had been lingering just over his shoulder for the past fifteen minutes was so skeptical of the outsider.

“Run this by me one mo’ time?,” she half-asked, half-demanded in a thick swamp accent. Albert turned to face her, finding a simply-dressed young woman with her arms crossed more out of distrust than outright fear. His gentle smile did little to placate her.

“Of course. I am Albert Morgan, I’m a historian from the University of Delaware,” he explained. She wrinkled her nose, but at least she didn’t call him out on the lie.

“And why’re you takin’ pictures of _this_ place?”

“So people years and years from now in the future will know what it was like for the people who lived here.” He gestured at the small one-road town, genuinely taken by its rustic charm, but when his eyes found hers again, she broke into a condescending grin.

“You must be a fool if you think people gonna give a damn ‘bout this place.” Albert huffed in concession and turned back to his equipment.

“Yes, I certainly do feel like a fool at times…”

She continued, more to herself than anything, “Naw, nothin’ ever happens out this way. ‘Cept for that bull a few years back that ate Jules, Lord rest his soul…”

Albert fine-tuned the aperture on his camera one last time before the off-handed comment registered with him. He pinched his brows together and turned back to his conversation partner.

“I’m sorry, did you say a ‘bull’ ate a man? As in _cattle?”_ The woman laughed.

“Wasn’t no bull like _that,_ I’m talkin’ a gator! Massive! Like a monster it was.” Albert balked.

“Oh my god. What happened to it?,” he asked, trying to hide the fact that he was more concerned for the animal than for the man it had apparently killed. The woman lazily pointed back towards a body of water that the town was built on.

“It’s still out there, last I heard.”

Internally, Albert breathed a sigh of relief that such a unique creature hadn’t been hunted and killed, but that wasn’t a sentiment he’d be sharing, least of all with anyone in this town. To keep up the ruse of being a historian, he pretended to take a few more pictures and asked the woman additional questions about Lagras; admittedly it didn’t sound like much _did_ happen here judging by her answers, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Albert was craving boredom and normalcy in his own life after all.

Perhaps ten minutes had gone by and the woman at his side showed no signs of going anywhere else. What had originally been a healthy dose of suspicion slowly gave way to something that almost resembled friendliness. Albert was about to ask for her name when they were both distracted by a rider who approached from the south, slowed his horse to a stop in the middle of the town’s single road and dismounted. When Albert took note of the rider’s limp in one leg, he sobered up, getting ready to enact the plan.

Javier shouted at the top of his lungs for anyone to hear. “Bill Williamson! I know you’re hiding out here! Come out and face me!”

“The hell is he goin’ on ‘bout?,” the woman next to Albert mused aloud at full volume. Likewise, some of the other locals slowly trickled out of their homes and back from the docks to witness this spectacle, but no one actively engaged with Javier.

At the north entrance of the town, maybe sixty feet away, Arthur, wearing Bill’s hat and coat, stepped out from behind a tree he’d probably been hiding behind for the past hour or two now that Albert was thinking about it. He stood awkwardly out in the open and faked a cough. Some of the locals took note of the additional newcomer, but were still content to watch things unfold without getting involved.

_Maybe we could’ve planned this out better. Too late now I suppose._

“Javier Escuella? What do _you_ want?,” Arthur barked back, not even attempting to mimic Bill’s regular voice. Javier snapped his head to Arthur’s direction and faced him in that iconic gunslinger stance one was more likely to find on a book cover these days.

“I’m here to collect your bounty.”

“Oh shit, he got a _bounty?_ What he do?,” the woman behind Albert whispered so only he could hear. 

“I have no idea,” Albert lied. He swiveled his camera on its stand and was able to line up a shot that had Javier’s back in the foreground to the right and Arthur in the distant left.

_Oh, this is going to be perfect._

The two gunslingers stared each other down, Arthur only sparing an almost unnoticed glance at Albert, as if to make sure he had a good shot ready to go. The dozen or so onlookers that had gathered at this point waited with baited breath.

When Albert nodded subtly, Arthur shouted back, “Well come get it you son of a bitch!”

The gunshots followed immediately afterwards and Albert exhaled as he took the photograph just as it began. Then he picked up the entire apparatus and quickly shuffled over to the edge of the closest houseboat, urging the woman to follow him.

“This way, out of the street!” Thankfully he followed after without complaint, but a stray bullet did whizz past her head, slamming into the wood of the house boat and sending splinters flying. Albert gasped.

 _Are they using_ real _bullets?_

That much wasn’t planned, or at least Albert thought it was understood that they’d be using blanks, but if nothing else they were sticking to the plan and putting up a convincing fight. After maybe half a minute of firing in the general vicinity of each other from behind cover, Arthur ran north, back into the swamps, and Javier immediately high-tailed it after him on foot, best as his limp would allow. Albert looked across the street and was pleased to see that none of the town’s inhabitants seemed to be injured as they all took cover themselves, but they had all seen the two outlaws, and that was the whole point of this performance.

“They gone?,” the woman asked in a worried and hushed tone.

“I’m not sure. Let’s just keep quiet a little longer,” Albert answered. He kept his eyes trained at the north entrance, waiting for the next step in their plan to carry itself out.

It felt like an eternity when in reality it couldn’t have been more than two or three minutes. The sounds of gunfire had continued to come from the swamps for a bit, but when they finally fell silent, they were replaced with the sound of an approaching horse. Sadie, riding side-saddle and dressed in a gorgeous yellow outfit and matching sun hat looking every bit like a high society woman from Saint Denis, came into view just as some of the braver villagers were beginning to come out from hiding.

“Help! Won’t somebody help me?,” she called out to no one in particular. It was almost jarring hearing her play the part of damsel-in-distress; it went against everything Albert knew about her.

He stepped out from behind the houseboat that he and his new companion were hiding behind and into the middle of the road, right in the path of her horse. He still held his tripod in one hand, but was able to help Sadie down from her mount.

“Miss, are you alright?” She placed a hand over her forehead, feigning shock and terror.

“Barely! I almost got shot back there!”

“What happened to you?,” Albert prompted in a louder-than-necessary voice. Some of the locals were gathering around the duo, but most were still casting a wary eye from the direction Sadie had just arrived from.

“I got lost out in the swamps trying to make my way back to Saint Denis. A few minutes ago I saw two men trying to kill each other in the trees, and one of them got shot and fell into the water. I think he got eaten by an alligator!”

A smattering of gasps and hushed comments broke out around the small crowd.

“Yeah, that’ll happen alright…”

“Probably the one that got Jules…”

Albert held Sadie’s hands, steeled himself and told her, “Stay here, these people will keep you safe.” He then stepped past her, out towards the direction she came.

“Where’re you going?,” Sadie called after him. Albert stopped and pulled an about-face.

“I’m going to see if I can confirm if those men are who I think they are. I believe they were former members of the Van der Linde gang!”

Name-dropping one of the most infamous gangs of the past three decades did not have the expected effect. Albert was met with mostly blank faces and a few seconds of silence.

“The what?,” someone asked.

“The… the Van der Linde gang!,” Albert announced with a flare, but the second time around didn’t garner much of a response either. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of them?”

Eyebrows were raised, curious gazes were exchanged and a cough or two ran through the gathered locals, but there was no sense of recognition to be had among them.

Mercifully, Sadie spoke up to help Albert out after an uncomfortable beat. “I know about the Van der Linde gang.” He seized on her comment immediately.

“Excellent, well you tell these people about why they were so terrible and I’ll go see what I can find out.”

He only caught the very beginning of the bothered scowl on her face as he turned on his heel and jogged north, leaving her behind to improvise an explanation to the good people of Lagras as to why those two men that had just shot up their homes were so terrible. With a pang of discomfort, Albert noted that that actually wouldn’t be too hard of a task; Sadie merely had to tell the truth about the gang’s collective past and maybe that would be enough to jog some memories.

He stuck to the main trail, poorly maintained as it was, until a recognizable whistle pulled him off of it and near the water’s edge. He found Arthur and Javier crouching behind the trunk of a large bald cypress tree not too long after.

“Took you long enough,” Arthur gruffed. No doubt he was in a sour mood because he was up to his knees in swamp muck and judging by the rest of his appearance it looked like he’d taken a dive into the cold waters to really sell it. Albert staked out a safe distance from the water, not wanting to tempt fate and risk spilling in himself.

“Sorry, had to delegate a history lesson on the Van der Linde gang to Sadie; the locals had no idea who you two were supposed to be.”

Javier looked genuinely offended. “They’d never heard of us?”

“You know normally I’d consider that to be a good thing. Today? Not so much,” Albert admitted. Something resembling a smirk flashed across Javier’s face for just a moment before he fell back into his usual neutral face he’d been directing at the photographer over the past few days.

“You were getting pretty damn close with some of those shots, Jav,” Arthur mused. Javier turned and shrugged with a facetious grin.

“Had to make it look real, right?”

“You certainly scared the daylights out of everyone back in that town, so at least the reporters will have that to work with,” Albert confirmed. Arthur jerked his chin up at the camera.

“And the pictures?”

“I got one good one of you two just as it started, but I think one more out here will suffice. Here.”

Albert stepped forward and removed the hat from Arthur’s head before chucking it out into a patch of stagnant water that was carpeted with algae. Arthur looked dumbstruck.

“What the hell’d you do that for?”

“Shh, just wait,” Albert hushed.

The three of them stood there, frozen, waiting for something to happen. Albert quietly unscrewed his camera from the tripod and held it in his hands waiting for the right moment. About a minute later the hat was threatening to become fully soaked and slip under the surface of the water for good when another one of the swamp’s locals appeared as Albert predicted it would. He timed his breathing as he waited for the gator that was peaking just its snout and eyes out of the algae to swim closer and inspect the hat, providing an almost poetic shot to establish the final fate of one Bill Williamson.

Clearly satisfied with the end result, Albert mumbled, “There, that should do the trick.” Arthur slowly took a step back out of the muck, closer to terra firma.

“You know, I was plannin’ on givin’ that back to him..”

“You’re more than welcome to go in and get it yourself,” Albert offered. Arthur looked back just in time to catch the gator snapping its jaws around the hat and slipping back into the murky depths under the surface.

“Think I’ll pass.”

Javier likewise was ready to get out of the swamps and into dry clothes again. “I’m gonna head out; don’t wanna be seen with you two… I mean… you know what I mean.” Arthur chuckled.

“Sure. You remember the plan with Charles?”

“Yeah, I’ll see him there in a few days. I still don’t know how I feel about this plan, but at least that was fun back there pretending to shoot Bill.”

“Hey, don’t speak ill of the dead like that,” Arthur half-seriously warned and Javier laughed before sneaking away, wary of any travelers on the road who might see him.

Albert and Arthur waited at that spot in silence for a stretch until they were convinced that Javier had gotten sufficiently far away. Albert took out and looked down at his pocket watch. _11:08 AM_

He dusted his pants off, accidentally somehow getting more mud on them in doing so, and looked south. “I think I should head back myself and rescue Sadie now.” He could feel Arthur’s presence close behind him before he saw it.

“You makin’ a habit of rescuin’ people now?,” he asked in a low voice. Albert turned to face him and was instantly face-to-face with him.

“I’ve acquired a taste for it, yes. What of it?” The look in Arthur’s eyes was pure adoration, and Albert recognized it as such.

“Nothin’, I just… I’m impressed is all.”

Albert took a step closer and smirked deviously as their faces were barely inches apart.

“Are you sure that’s the right word for it?,” he dared. Arthur grinned right back.

“Maybe not.”

Albert stole a quick but satisfying kiss, relieved that the most dangerous part of today’s plan had passed. He pushed Arthur back and into a tree with a firm hand on the chest before the kiss risked becoming something more.

“Get going. You’re supposed to be dead, remember? I’ll see you later.”

Albert scooped his equipment up off the ground and made his way back to Lagras, but not before hearing Arthur good-naturedly mutter under his breath, “Goddamn _tease…”_

* * *

_10/2/04_

_Haven’t been writing much lately. Things just don’t seem to slow down. Bill is safe, Albert is safe, even Jack is safe and back with his family, but things don’t feel_ _ safer. _ _It all feels temporary, like it can all be taken away in the blink of an eye again._

_Albert’s come up with a new plan to fool Milton into thinking the boys are all turning on each other. I don’t know if it’ll work, but I also don’t think putting a bullet in Milton’s skull is the right answer either._

_I’m just tired._

* * *

Closing the window, drawing the curtains shut and effectively barricading oneself inside a hotel room in Rhodes would normally be a death trap and a guaranteed way to pass out from heat stroke. Fortunately early October brought with it cooler temperatures that weren’t outright oppressive, though there was still some residual heat in the room from all of the activity they’d just carried out.

Arthur lay on his back on the bed, staring up at the dark, featureless ceiling, his breathing mostly back to a normal pace. Immediately to his left Albert was doing the same. It reminded Arthur of their first few trysts in that Saint Denis hotel room, always in utter darkness no matter the time of day. Even the smells of Albert’s developing chemicals on the other side of the room reminded him of those early days of their relationship. And just like then, he could tell that Albert’s mind was already moving on to the next thought, even now during the come down.

“I miss Lily,” Albert announced, apropos of nothing. Arthur sighed.

“Me too.”

“Do you think she’ll remember us?”

“Course, it hasn’t been _that_ long.”

Albert rolled onto his right side, almost on top of Arthur in order to face him. After some wordless shuffling, Arthur snaked an arm around to mindlessly scratch Albert’s back as the photographer traced shapes across his chest.

“We’re going on, what, two months now since John first showed up?”

If he wanted to, he could go back through his journal and pinpoint the exact date, but Arthur opted to just slowly nod his head in the dim lighting. “Somethin’ like that…”

“I’m just saying, that’s a long time for a dog to go without their owner.”

“She’ll remember us,” he reassured. “Naw, the trick is gettin’ her to want to come back home.”

“Why do you say that?,” Albert asked.

“Did you see those scraps the boys at the Post were givin’ away? She’s gonna be so fat when we see her, we’re gonna have to _roll_ her home.” Albert chuckled softly, a low, rewarding rumble coming from his chest that warmed Arthur’s own as it always did. Not that it needed warming; the room could stand to have better circulation but Albert had warned him that photographs were susceptible to humidity changes while they were being developed. And it wasn’t like they could go out and ‘kill’ Bill Williamson again if they didn’t come out right.

After they fell silent again, Albert mumbled, “Now _there’s_ a word I haven’t heard in a while.”

 _Home._ It almost sounded foreign to Arthur as well at this point.

“What happened to ‘home is wherever you are’?,” he teased, bringing up that old saying Albert used to spout before they formally lived together.

“That’s still true, but I _did_ very much spend a lot of money on a house that I’d like to get back to eventually.”

It would’ve been easy to make a quip about how Albert had a history of spending a lot of money on things, but Arthur held his tongue. Instead he struck a more reassuring tone.

“It’ll happen. If this plan don’t work out we’ll think of somethin’ else, but it’ll happen.”

Albert’s body froze and even his back tensed up as Arthur could feel while scratching it. When he also stopped and looked over at Albert he could see a deadly serious and determined expression on his face, even in the darkness.

“This plan is going to work. It has to,” Albert stated in a cold voice. This had been happening a few times over the past few days since they met back up, but Arthur noticed it only happened whenever Milton came up in conversation.

“Well I’m just sayin’, let’s not go into this thinkin’ this is a silver bullet. He’s a smart feller after all.”

Albert pulled away from him and rolled onto his back again.

“It’s going to work,” he repeated firmly. Arthur knew there was something more going on there, but he also knew when to leave well enough alone.

“Okay,” he yielded.

Albert sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, but did not rise. “Speaking of getting back to things, I should take a look at these photos.” The tension in his shoulders evaporated instantly and Arthur decided to just roll with it.

“You’re gettin’ back to work again already?” Albert searched the floor blindly until he found a pair of drawers to cover himself with and stepped into them one leg at a time.

“This last step only needed about ten minutes to settle before I could move on,” he explained. He then mocked looking at a wristwatch that wasn’t there and continued, “And judging by my count, you lasted exactly as long as I needed you to, not a moment longer.”

Albert continued to fumble about in the dark, sorting his own clothes out from Arthur’s as Arthur lay on the bed thinking about what he just heard.

“What’re you sayin’?,” he finally asked.

“I’m saying I only needed a distraction for ten minutes and you provided it, as I knew you would.”

Arthur blinked.

“You _used_ me?”

He could swear he could almost _hear_ the grin on Albert’s face when he replied, “Not for the first time.”

Arthur thought back to some of the times over the years when Albert would develop photographs at home, in his makeshift studio in the basement. Suddenly a lot of Albert’s ‘quick breaks’ in the bedroom, the times they made it that far, made more sense.

He called Albert a son of a bitch, going so far as to take his ring off and throw it at the photographer’s bare back, letting it fall harmlessly to get lost in the tangled sheets. Albert simply laughed.

* * *

_BATTLE IN THE BAYOU_

_October 4th, 1904_

_Eyewitnesses in the secluded town of Lagras have confirmed with our reporters that a violent shootout had taken place on Saturday, October 1st. The two antagonists that brought chaos to the sleepy swamp town were believed to be former members of the inglorious Van der Linde gang: Javier Escuella and Marion “Bill” Williamson. What triggered the gunfight is a matter of some dispute, but what is known is that for a brief few minutes on that peaceful morning, the town resembled a warzone._

_Fortunately, the only casualty appeared to be Mr. Williamson, who was shot and then devoured by an alligator after being unceremoniously dumped into the water. A visiting historian who was only armed with a camera was generous enough to provide the Saint Denis Times with the accompanying images of the event._

_The current whereabouts of Javier Escuella or any of the surviving Van der Linde gang members are unknown, but citizens are encouraged to avoid the dangerous individuals at all costs and provide local authorities with any relevant information._

_[The article is accompanied by two images; one of two men firing at each other with pistols from a distance, the other of a hat floating in swampwater with an alligator lurking nearby.]_

* * *

The house looked the same as it did when he was last here; new construction but largely unimpressive. The grounds of the ranch however were another matter entirely. Fences needed mending, animals needed to be rounded up and returned to their pens, and a carpet of dried weeds and grass threatened to swallow the whole property up in flames if just the right spark was provided.

_Now there’s a thought._

That’s not what he was here for however. Instead, he pressed on, walking across the front porch, noting the bullet hole in the siding, and finding the front door curiously unlocked. There were no other horses hitched anywhere in sight, but he readied his revolver anyway before crossing the threshold into the house.

He was instantly accosted with the foul smell of spoiled food and unwashed dishes and clothes; no doubt they’d had several days to fester in the still atmosphere, but that also signaled that there likely weren’t any squatters that had tried to claim the place for themselves either. He was thorough in checking the rooms at the front of the house, but found no one, which was simultaneously relieving and disappointing. It meant no immediate danger, but it also meant more work to be done later unless his luck turned back around and he found a relevant clue.

Carefully pacing into the large shared living space he could see a mess of clutter and opened but not discarded mail and newspapers piling high on the dining table. He couldn’t rule out the possibility that there was something worthwhile buried in there, but perhaps it would be better to delegate that task to someone else. He was about to run through his mental roster and determine who would be best suited for the job when he noticed one letter in particular, neatly folded but without an accompanying envelope lying unexposed, adjacent to the worst of the pile. He picked it up and unfolded it.

_Dear Uncle Milton,_

_I’m sorry we weren’t able to come visit your ranch this past summer. Jake took ill and then we lost a cow and half the barn in a bad storm. Hopefully we can try again next year, or maybe meet halfway? I have a friend who owns a ranch, similar to yours, in Hennigan’s Stead. It’s even got its own train stop! Please let us know what works best for you._

_Yours,_

_A.Callahan_

His eyes honed in on the last line.

_A.Callahan._

Since entering the house, the only noises were his own footsteps and those of his assistant, fumbling around in the rooms towards the back of the house, interspersed occasionally with the assistant’s new and persistent cough. It took the reappearance of said assistant to tear his eyes away from the letter.

“Isn’t it a _crime_ to read someone else’s mail?,” the man asked in a flippant tone. He smirked back in response.

“Hardly. Besides, it has my name on it.”

Milton handed the letter to Ross and let him read it. He skimmed it quickly with his eyes, but didn’t seem to understand it on the first pass.

“What is this?”

“Our next tip,” Milton stated, as if that was sufficient enough of an explanation. He turned and made to exit out the front door, speaking over his shoulder, “Take what you think we’ll need from here, then we’ll leave. We need to figure out our next steps.”

Ross stifled yet another cough behind him, but Milton’s mind was already leaping days ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (You noticed all those extra commas, didn’t you?)
> 
> So Nate’s out here sipping on that Respect Bill Juice because I guess... somebody has to? He’s the closest thing to an OC in this work and he’s been fun to write though, even if he is just a quirkier version of Albert with worse taste in men.
> 
> Probably my favorite “help someone get back into town” side mission is the woman from Lagras who tells that awful story of the horse being eaten by alligators before dragging Arthur for not having a home. She was so funny and had such a distinct way of speaking that I know I didn’t nail here, but I still wanted her to have a cameo. Also R.I.P. to Jules, getting eaten by that monster gator because Dutch never met up with Thomas to try and kill Angelo Bronte in this timeline.
> 
> Also, I hope the “Major Character Death” warning makes sense now; R.I.P. In Peace to Bill’s hat.
> 
> Did I adapt the classic “the egg timer was broken” joke for a gay Western setting? You bet your ass I did. Did the chapter count climb up yet again? ...yes it did, but there IS an ending and we WILL get there, I promise!
> 
> Finally, if you care about Far Cry 5, I wrote a short (<5k) one-shot to practice writing shorter pieces using that setting, but that seems like a largely inactive fandom these days. Still, it honestly took me like only one day to bang that one out and it did push me out of my normal comfort zone, so I guess it served its purpose.
> 
> Happy Halloween!


	22. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albert hammers out the details of his plan. Two more names are removed from John's list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously this one is going up late because... girl… Who got anything done last week? Also I just haven’t been home, what with /seventeen/ house showings this week, each going for 45 minutes. That’s almost thirteen hours I literally haven’t been able to be in my own home. But whatever, we’re here now!
> 
> This chapter picks up a day after we left off. October 5, 1904 was a Wednesday.

Ethereal.

That was how someone who was better with words would describe it. How a cold snap had allowed the pre-dawn mists to linger this late into the morning, suspended a few feet above the pockmarked battleground that was once a meadow. A meadow destroyed along with countless lives in that senseless war when Albert was only a boy, too young to understand why countrymen took up arms against one another. Looking at this hallowed ground that long ago was a bloodbath, a more spiritual man could be excused for believing he was looking at a literal field of souls that crisp morning.

But Albert paid no mind to his otherworldly surroundings.

No, he was more focused on the task at hand, and the one that would come after, and the one after that. This plan,  _ his _ plan, that all of the others were counting on had to work, had to be flawless. Albert had never taxed his mind so strongly for so long before, never had to game out every single scenario and outcome with the stakes this high. But this was a level of scrutiny that the situation called for; that would be needed to outsmart Milton.

Because Albert would be  _ damned _ if he was going to let Milton fool him again.

“You with me, Al?”

Arthur’s voice from behind, gentle as it was, was still enough to startle Albert back into the present moment. He instinctively flinched at the noise, needing to steady a hand on the adjacent tripod before turning and seeing a pensive Arthur with bloodied hands.

“Of course I am. What makes you ask?”

“I dunno, it just… looked like you were ‘somewhere else,’ you know?,” Arthur commented with an air of concern. Albert immediately forced what he hoped looked like a reassuring smile.

“Oh, no, I was…” He swept his eyes across the horizon looking for an alibi and surprisingly, he found one. Focusing in on an imposing and decrepit structure in the distance before continuing, “I was thinking about that old church over there. How I once spent an afternoon hiding from a summer storm in it.”

Arthur followed his eyes over to the church and raised his brows in recognition.

“We did hide out in there, didn’t we?”

“That’s not all we did,” Albert reminded with a mischievous tone. Arthur blushed and went so far as to awkwardly hide his face under the brim of his hat as he so often did when such matters came up. For as brave and strong as he was, the man was still somewhat of a prude, even in private like this. Albert found it endearing, even after all this time.

Arthur cleared his throat loudly and pushed on,  _ “Anyways, _ did what you asked; cut off the head and hooves.”

“And the dynamite?,” Albert asked. Arthur gave him a thumbs up.

“Ready to go.”

“Thank you.” Albert shifted his stance to lean against the tripod, not with too much weight, and actually took in their surroundings for the first time since they got out here. He continued with an amused tone, “I will say, this is probably one of the stranger preparations I’ve ever made for a shot.” Arthur hummed in agreement.

“Hope it works. Still seems like a waste of a good deer to me.”

“It will serve its purpose,” Albert reassured. “Much as I hate to say it, there’s going to need to be  _ some _ blood and flesh left behind if this is to be convincing.”

Arthur raised a suspicious eyebrow and gave Albert a sideways glance. “A deer though? Javier ain’t got fur like that.  _ You _ on the other hand…”

Albert steadfastly ignored the dig at his body hair. Instead, he pointed out, “It’ll be barely recognizable after the blast, trust me. Unless you’d rather have Javier  _ himself _ lay down in that hole and be blown sky-high?”

“No I would not,” Arthur conceded with an eye roll and a chuckle.

_ pop pop _

It was distant, but the sound of gunfire was unmistakable. Javier and Charles were likely using live rounds ‘against’ each other to truly sell the performance like that incident in Lagras a few days back. There was a time when those sounds would’ve sent Albert scurrying for cover, all pretense of dignity and decorum discarded in favor of self preservation. But even though he was expecting the mock gunfight to come this way, Albert didn’t so much as flinch at the first few shots he heard.

He didn’t know what to make of that.

“Speak of the devil,” Arthur mused, equally unfazed.

Together, they watched as the two figures formed out of the mist and dismounted, as discussed.  _ No one would ride a horse through all those trenches and craters _ was Albert’s justification, but in truth he just didn’t want to sacrifice yet another animal for a convincing ruse if it wasn’t necessary.

They played their part, Javier taking the lead and peppering shots over his shoulder in feigned retreat, Charles giving chase and making good use of the varied terrain for cover. To Albert, they almost looked like they were having fun, like young boys let loose to burn off their energy before being let back into the house. Neither of them seemed too concerned with the fact that one wrong move or stray bullet could result in a fatal injury for either of them. Albert quickly snapped two action shots that clearly identified the two men using his old zoom lens that Arthur had gifted him a few years ago. Apparently they ‘fell off the back of a delivery wagon.’

Straightening his posture, “That should do the trick. Tell them I’m ready.”

Arthur nodded and began jogging out into the field, hollering and waving for the two men to stop. The mock fight halted immediately, and though the moisture in the air carried all their voices farther than they normally would, Albert could not make out the exact words from this distance. He merely gave a friendly wave when they chanced a look back in his direction.

He watched as Arthur led them over to the crater the prepared deer carcass was lying in, out of sight from his current position. Javier disrobed, placing his red and yellow poncho and shirt into the crater that was lined with sticks of dynamite that Charles had provided and Albert knew better than to ask where he got them from. Javier and Arthur took cover in a nearby trench, leaving Charles behind to set it all off. The man looked back at Albert one last time to confirm, and once he received a thumbs up he bent down and worked with his hands before sprinting for cover.

Albert peered through his lens, focused and ready. He slowed and tempered his breathing in anticipation of timing the shot properly. This part wasn’t strictly necessary, but he wanted to prove that he could, more for himself than anything else.

A pause, then…

_ BOOM _

_ Click _

His thumb sank the plunger and took the shot before the shockwave reached him, knocking his hat off even from this distance -  _ how much dynamite did Charles use? _ \- and rumbling the very earth under his feet. The plume of dirt and blood and ash shot into the sky and lingered for a moment before trailing back down to ground. He may have developed a tolerance for gunshots, but something like  _ this _ was clearly still capable of rattling Albert if his pounding heart was anything to go by.

The others, who were closer to the explosion, began laughing, no doubt used to this kind of excitement from their younger days in the gang. Albert was relieved that none of them seemed hurt, and after inspecting and failing to find any signs of damage on his camera he started to approach them. As he walked, he couldn’t help but watch the aftermath of the explosion above him, looming over the battlefield like an ominous and warning spirit that had forced the other mists away. It took a concerted effort to tear his eyes away from the eerie sight and back towards the others.

_ This is going to work. It  _ has _ to. _

* * *

_ But what if it doesn’t? _

Twelve hours later and his mind still would not let up.

Albert was no stranger to working in the dark, and this rudimentary setup he had in their Rhodes hotel room was close enough to his home studio that he could almost do this work blindfolded. Muscle memory alone carried him through the motions of developing the photos he took earlier in the day and that turned out to be a blessing; his mind was too preoccupied with other matters to do the work properly if he actually needed to focus on it.

_ Milton knows I’m a photographer, so no doubt he’ll figure out that all these “anonymous witnesses” are me. But will his men know that? Will they believe him? It’s not like they’ll be able to go out and look for the bodies themselves. _

He reached blindly to his right and unbottled a solution of pyrogallic acid. Mindlessly, he poured it over the glass plates, long ago having developed an immunity to its odor.

_ Ross obviously informed him of Charles rescuing Arthur and Bill, so he’ll know that they’re all working together. But maybe we can play up Javier’s betrayal as a breaking point that made them all turn on each other? Or is it too late for that? Perhaps in the letter to the newspaper I can hint that- _

“Al?”

His mind halted at the whispered interruption. Albert slowly turned around in his seat. The single lit candle at his side was barely sufficient to light his immediate workspace, let alone the entire room, but he could just barely make out Arthur’s form twisted in the sheets on the bed behind him.

“Yes?”

“You still up workin’?”

“I must’ve lost track of time,” Albert admitted. It was always easy to do so in a room that was intentionally kept dark like this. “What time is it?”

“I dunno, late. C’mere.”

He couldn’t see it with his eyes, but in his mind he could imagine Arthur rolling onto his back and patting his chest, a welcoming invitation to crawl up onto him that would have worked any other night. But Albert stayed rooted to his seat. With a fair amount of guilt, he found himself preferring to keep working than share a bed with his own husband.

“I’m almost done,” Albert lied. “Let me just finish this last one.”

With that, he twisted back around to continue working, knowing that this was going to take at least another hour. He eyed the remainder of the candle’s wick and frowned when he estimated it wouldn’t last that long. He was confident that he could finish without it though.

Albert tried to ignore the feeling of Arthur’s worried eyes on his back. He tried to ignore the ten seconds of deafening silence before the mattress creaked as Arthur finally turned away, defeated.

He failed at both attempts.

* * *

_ SCARLET MEADOW SCUFFLE _

_ October 7th, 1904 _

_ Violence in the form of a gunfight was visited upon the quiet town of Rhodes, Lemoyne, again at the hands of surviving members of the Van der Linde gang. The two men in question this time were one Javier Escuella and one Charles Smith. Informed readers will recognize that this Mister Escuella was the very same that was involved in the Lagras incident earlier this week. _

_ Eyewitnesses attest that the two men identified each other on Rhodes’ main thoroughfare before firing on one another with a callous disregard for any innocents that may have gotten caught in the crossfire. Before the sheriff and his deputies could mount a resistance, the two criminals mounted on horseback and fled south, continuing their fight along the way. _

_ An amateur photographer who wished to remain anonymous for his own safety claimed that the two men came close to him at the Bolder Glade battleground. During their fight, it appears Mister Escuella stepped on an unexploded ordnance left over from the War and met with a destructive end that left identifying the body an impossible task. Fortunately, aside from some minor property damage, it does not appear that there were any casualties aside from Mister Escuella. _

_ Again, local authorities are urging citizens to share any information on the whereabouts of the Van der Linde gang while maintaining a safe distance from them. Additionally, citizens are warned to avoid the historic Bolder Glade battleground for their own safety. _

_ [The article is accompanied by two images; one of two men firing at each other on a foggy and abandoned battlefield, the other of a jet of debris shooting up into the sky.] _

* * *

His eyes were kept firmly shut ever since they left the station.

It’s not that he didn’t like trains. On the contrary, Albert normally enjoyed them, felt they were efficient and fairly-priced. It was this specific route from Rhodes to Flatneck Station that unsettled him, and not unreasonably so when one considered the associations he had with this particular stretch of rail. Less than a month ago he had taken this exact train on his way to Blackwater before walking right into Milton’s trap at the barber’s. But more pointedly, it was on this journey five years ago that he experienced two unfortunate firsts on that same awful night: the first time a gun was pointed at his face and the first time he watched a man be killed. It was an unavoidable memory, but Albert wanted to give it no quarter.

It was for that reason he insisted that he and Sadie sat on the opposite side of the car. He went so far as to take the aisle seat, lest he look out the window and see something that stirred the memory back up.

“Flatneck Station, coming up!”

Seated alone and a row in front of them, Charles coughed loudly, signalling the start of the plan. It wasn’t necessary; Albert’s eyes had finally flown open with the conductor’s announcement to the car and he knew what to do. It was  _ his _ plan after all.

He steadied his nerves with a deep breath -  _ why am  _ I _ nervous? I’m not the one who’s about to “die” _ \- before summoning up his acting skills that had no business getting as much practice as they had recently. He turned to his left and intentionally spoke loud enough for the other passengers in the car to hear.

“Adelaide, my love, have I mentioned that you are looking positively  _ gorgeous _ today?”

Seated at his side, Sadie rolled her eyes and smiled with just a touch more sincerity than Albert felt was necessary. It was true, she looked radiant in that yellow dress again, it just felt strange for the both of them to have Albert attempt to wax poetic like this.

“Robert, you flatter me…,” she replied bashfully.

“It’s true! I could tell you every day for the rest of my life and it still would not be enough. I simply  _ must _ have a photo of you to encapsulate this moment for all time. I must… capture your brilliance as if to freeze it amber. Like the amber of your eyes!”

“My eyes are brown,” she muttered.

“Just hand me my bag,” he shot right back under his own breath.

Charles sighed.

The train slowed as it approached the station and was at a complete stop by the time Albert had his camera just about ready. He forewent the usual tripod setup, obviously, instead opting to just stand in the middle of the aisle which still proved to be a nuisance to people getting on and off at this stop. Again, he mentally warned himself to be careful with his dwindling supply of film. But there was something about the way Sadie was framed in that seat with the sun hitting her from behind  _ just so; _ head tilted away in a disinterested profile, seated in a posture that displayed her typical swagger and confidence that perfectly juxtaposed with the dainty and effeminate character she was meant to be playing... It really did make for a stunning shot. His inner artist demanded it and he actually took her picture, to his own surprise.

Almost immediately the beauty of the moment was gone.

The train lurched and roared as it was set into motion again and Albert nearly lost his footing, much to Sadie’s amusement. But when the door to the front of their car opened, he snapped his head to the right, just in time to catch Arthur scowling and blocking the entryway.

“Charles Smith,” he spat with a pretty convincing air of disdain. The target of his anger slowly rose from his seat.

“Arthur Morgan…”

Some of the other passengers were clearly noticing the sudden tension between the newcomer and Charles. Albert stayed put where he was in the middle of the aisle and played dumb.

“You killed Javier.”

“That I did.”

Nearly everyone had their eyes set on this confrontation at the front of the car now. The two men stared each other down in silence for a few moments.

“They’re Van der Lindes!,” a timid man spoke aloud from the rear.

_ At least we won’t have to give another history lesson... _

“You’re gonna pay for what you did!,” Arthur shouted.

“Not if I kill you first!”

Arthur reached down and drew his gun almost comically slow, so as to give Charles time to launch himself out of his seat and grab Arthur’s wrist. Two shots went wild into the car’s ceiling and people began shouting. Albert quickly brought his camera up and looked through the lens. Fortunately there was sufficient light in the car such that he didn’t need his flashbulb.

_ Click _

Arthur let himself be pushed back into a wall and dropped the gun after Charles slammed his hand against it. Albert felt a difference in air pressure as the door at the back of the car opened and he could hear people exiting into the next car behind them, but he was too transfixed on the fight in front of him. He actually winced in sympathy as Arthur drove a fist into Charles’ stomach, keeling the man over.

_ They’re making this look really convincing. _

Charles regained himself and struck Arthur across the face, instantly splitting his lip open.

_ Ah. _

“Hey! You two! Stop fighting!”

Albert wheeled around and saw the conductor from earlier at the rear of the car, fighting his way through the last few passengers who decided they didn’t want to stick around to see how this would end. Albert stayed right where he was however.

Behind him, Arthur landed one more solid punch on Charles before ducking back out into the space between cars and climbing up on top of one of them. Charles followed after, and their loud footsteps could be heard on top of their car by the time the conductor had made it to Albert.

“Sir, please move out of the way!”

“I’m sorry? I don’t understand,” Albert somehow managed to say with a straight face. The man looked at him incredulously.

“What don’t you understand?! Those two men are trying to kill each other, and I intend to stop them!”

Albert glanced out the window behind Sadie. The train had only just begun to cross the massive bridge that spanned Bard’s Crossing, and the plan would only work if no one else got on top of the train. He looked back at the conductor and-

Froze.

“Get out of my way!”

The conductor shoved Albert into the empty seats on the opposite side of the aisle and he winced as that familiar spike of pain in his left shoulder reappeared like an unwelcome guest. The conductor made to chase after Arthur and Charles but as soon as he took a step, he lost his footing and fell prone. Noticing who the offending foot belonged to, the man glared back at Sadie from the floor.

“What’d you do  _ that _ for?!” She instantly met his anger with her own.

“Someone said they were Van der Lindes! So you’re gonna stay here and protect me, ‘cus my useless husband here obviously won’t.” She shot a withering look of disappointment at Albert across the aisle that genuinely rattled him before returning her attention to the conductor. “I say let ‘em kill each other.”

It certainly sounded like that was what was happening above them. No more gunshots, but repeated thuds and slams coming from on top of the moving train car absolutely gave the impression of a raucous affair happening up there. So much so that Albert truly couldn’t say if they were pretending anymore.

When the train was near the halfway point of the bridge, three loud stomps on the roof of the car in quick succession signaled to Albert to get ready. He slid past the conductor who was now getting into it with Sadie and got into the now-empty bench Charles had occupied earlier. He positioned himself just before the three of them could hear Charles scream.

“No, wait! NO!”

Albert held his breath and waited, camera in hand, until he saw it. A humanoid figure sporting the same blue shirt Charles was seen wearing less than a minute earlier flew off the left side of the train. It descended rapidly past the windows and into the mouth of the Dakota River a hundred feet below them, but they all saw it. A few gasps broke out among the few passengers who decided to stay in this car, adding to the list of witnesses.

_ Click _

“Did he jump?,” the conductor asked.

“I think he was thrown…,” Albert responded morbidly as he lowered his camera and peered down over the side as best as he could. The scarecrow they’d hidden on top of the car should’ve hit the water by now, and the current from the river would push it out into Flat Iron Lake soon enough, so there would be no ‘body’ to find.

At least he  _ hoped _ that was the scarecrow that went over the side.

They all strained their ears for the sound of Arthur’s footsteps, but could not make any out over the sound of the wheels clunking over the rails’ various imperfections. As efficient as rail travel was, it was hardly the quietest.

“I have to get to the rear and make sure that man doesn’t jump off,” the conductor said. That was a problem, seeing as that’s exactly what Arthur and Charles were going to do, so Sadie immediately grabbed the man by the arm.

“Like hell you are! You’re staying here with  _ me.” _

“Ma’am, let  _ go _ of me!” He tried jerking out of her grip, not knowing that he was dealing with a professional bounty hunter with some four years experience of literal manhandling. As Albert expected, she held onto the conductor as they continued to bicker back and forth all the way to Riggs Station. It was only after the train came to a stop, it’s engineer apparently oblivious to what had happened in the passenger cars behind him, that Sadie finally relinquished her hold on the employee.

“Come on, Robert, we’re getting off here.” She rose from her seat and flashed a sarcastic grin at the conductor. “Thanks for keeping us company.”

The man was clearly emasculated from having been physically held in place against his will by a woman wearing a dress. He clenched his jaw and said nothing as he massaged his now-freed elbow. Albert gathered his supply bag from the seat and meekly followed after his “wife” without a word, only pausing to pick up Arthur’s gun off the floor when the conductor huffed and finally made for the rear of the train.

It seemed like a fair amount of other passengers had the same idea to get off at this stop, whether it was their final destination or not. Consequently the lone carriage driver who’d been waiting at the usually quiet station suddenly found himself with a bidding war on his hands. Albert and Sadie bypassed the small crowd however, going deeper into the nearby woods where Javier was supposed to be waiting with their horses. When they were sufficiently far away from eavesdroppers, she looked over her shoulder and asked the question Albert knew was coming.

“What happened back there, Al? You froze up on that guy.”

He fiddled with the latch on his camera bag, ashamed at his inaction, but there was no way to look at it. “I did, didn’t I? I honestly don’t know what happened, I just couldn’t think of anything to say in the moment to keep stalling him.” Sadie slowed her pace to match Albert’s and playfully nudged his shoulder.

“Good thing I was there with ya then, huh?”

“Indeed,” he agreed softly. Then, with more sarcasm, “I’m sorry I couldn’t step up and protect my own  _ wife _ in the face of danger. I mean, what kind of man  _ am _ I?”

There was that eye roll and smirk again as Sadie tried not to hurt his feelings.

“Honey… you’re a good man, but you and I? We’d never work out.”

Albert caught sight of a plume of smoke in the distance, likely where Javier had set up a small camp while he waited for the others. He took off in that direction and Sadie wordlessly followed when she saw it as well.

“For a few reasons, yes, I’m inclined to agree.” Sadie finally openly laughed at that.

“Well, there’s one  _ big _ reason, but I think we learned a few others today, yeah.”

“I’m assuming that ‘big reason’ is that I don’t know the color of your eyes?,” he quipped, joining in with her laughter. He didn’t realize it, but it was the first time he’d allowed himself to laugh in a few days.

“Yeah, let’s go with that.”

* * *

_ This will be my third anonymous letter to the newspaper. Would Milton have access to the letters I’m sending? Of course he will, who am I kidding; the man is relentless... Maybe I should have someone else write the letter so they can’t tell they were all written by me. I could ask Arthur. But would Milton be able to recognize  _ his _ handwriting? I’m not sure. Better to not chance it. I’ll ask Sadie, I’m sure she- _

“You listenin’ to me?”

Albert blinked and turned around in his saddle. Arthur and Ivy were pulled off the side of the road behind him, almost twenty feet away.

“Sorry?”

“I said let’s take a break here.”

Albert looked forward at the empty road before him, then twisted back to Arthur.

“We’re nearly there though.”

“And I ain’t goin’ all the way with you, remember?” There was a touch of irritation in the delivery that Albert wasn’t sure why it was there, but he caught it all the same. He stamped out his own rising frustration and without further protest turned Penny around, following Arthur off into the woods and away from the trail. This stretch of forest south of Strawberry wasn’t too far from where they had first met, but that memory was far from Albert’s mind as he dismounted with Arthur in a small clearing.

“Did you want to start a fire or something?,” Albert asked casually. He looked over at Arthur who was still sporting a freshly-split lip that had finally begun to scab up. He felt guilty for not noticing it earlier.

Arthur shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned his back against Ivy.

“No, just wanted to talk.”

“About what?”

“You.”

Albert feigned ignorance for a beat. “Me?”

“Yeah,  _ you. _ What’s goin’ on with you?”

“Nothing’s ‘going on’ with me, what makes you ask that?” Arthur shrugged.

“Normally I can’t get you to shut up, but you haven’t said a word since we left the others.”

It was true, but Albert hadn’t realized it until that moment. After everyone reconvened at Javier’s spot following Charles’ ‘death’, Arthur had offered to escort him to Strawberry. He couldn’t risk being seen in the town proper before the next step of the plan though, so Albert assumed this break was when they would say goodbye before he went the rest of the way on his own. Albert instinctively wanted to glance back at the road in the direction they were heading, but refrained from doing so.

“I'm just looking forward to settling in for the evening and getting to work on these photographs.” Arthur studied him, clearly unsatisfied with the answer.

“You can’t look forward to that and talk at the same time?”

“We’re talking now, aren’t we?”

He wanted to leave. There was still maybe two hours of sunlight left, more than enough time to get into Strawberry, so he couldn’t use that as an excuse. But being pinned down under Arthur’s scrutinous eyes was unsettling, like being sized up by a hunter trying to figure out how best to begin flaying his prey open. Finally, Arthur spoke with a low voice.

“This is about Milton, isn’t it?”

It absolutely was and they both knew it.

“No it’s not,” Albert shot back reflexively. The delivery was pathetic, even to his own ears.

“It  _ is,” _ Arthur stressed. “Every time someone mentions him now you get all weird.”

“I’m not  _ weird.” _

“Yes you  _ are.” _ He stepped forward and reached out to place a hand on Albert’s good shoulder. “Al, it’s alright if this plan don’t work, we’ll figure someth-“

Before he knew what he was doing, Albert had smacked the hand away.

“It’s going to  _ work!” _

His voice carried through the clearing and even the idle birdsongs paused for a beat before continuing. Arthur just stood there, looking at him with a mix of shock and pity that Albert couldn’t stand.

“I know you all think this is just a fun little game I’m playing with him, but it’s going to  _ work. _ I am going to  _ save _ us, all of us!” Arthur recoiled his head, needing a moment to process what he’d been accused of.

“I never said nothin’ like that.”

“But you were thinking it.”

“No, I wasn’t!”

Albert began pacing, only making eye contact every few words. “Look, I know I’m a fool. And sometimes I’m an outright idiot. But I am not  _ stupid. _ I am being careful, and I am gaming out  _ every _ scenario. I am  _ not _ going to let him get the better of me again.”

Arthur shook his head, disappointed, and that only angered Albert further. “You’re lettin’ him get into your head, Al.”

“Maybe I am, but you know what? This is the best I can do. All I have to offer is my intelligence, and I intend to use it. I know he’s not going to believe any of these stories; I know he’s going to look at these photographs and see my handiwork behind them, but that’s  _ not the point. _ The point is to weaken his standing with his own men so we can have the upper hand when we finally have to deal with him!”

“‘Deal with him?’,” Arthur repeated. Albert ignored the comment.

“I know there are a hundred ways this can go wrong, but I can  _ do _ this. I just need you to have faith in me, Arthur,  _ please. _ Don’t tell me that’s asking too much.”

When he stopped pacing and found Arthur’s eyes again he expected further resistance or maybe even outright derision or mockery. Not this. Not…  _ fear. _

“You’re scaring me, Al.”

The admission caught Albert off guard, but he quickly doubled down on his frustration again and struck an accusatory tone. “So you’re doubting me? I can’t bank on you having my back? What else am I supposed to do, Arthur?” Again, Arthur’s reaction confused him.

“You sound like Dutch did at the end,” he whispered. “When I stopped recognizin’ him.” Arthur swallowed and looked at Albert for a long moment as if he were truly looking at the ghost of his old mentor. “I don’t know that I recognize  _ you _ right now.”

Albert didn’t let show how much that comment hurt. Instead he bridged the gap between them and held Arthur’s hands in his own.

“I have a  _ plan, _ Arthur. I just need you to  _ trust _ me.”

That was absolutely the wrong thing to say.

Arthur’s expression went wide-eyed with concern. He jerked his hand free and stepped back, bumping into Ivy. “There was always a goddamn plan…,” he muttered fearfully. Albert didn’t understand this reaction.

“Is this news to you?” Arthur didn’t address the question.

“What happens if the plan don’t work? You gonna start blamin’ the rest of us?!”

“What? No, of course not,” Albert tried, now confused himself. 

“How do you know? You’re so focused on how it’s supposed to go, you’re not thinkin’ about what might happen if it don’t.”

“It  _ will _ work!”

“You don’t know that!”

“I  _ do! _ What is  _ wrong _ with you? Why won’t you trust me?!”

Whatever Arthur was going to say next, he apparently thought it was better to keep to himself. Instead, he shut his mouth, turned, and mounted Ivy.

“No. I’m not doin’ this with you right now. See you in two days,” he gruffed.

“Really?” Arthur turned Ivy around and spurred her south, leaving Albert behind calling after him. “Really?”

Arthur didn’t respond. He was completely out of sight and probably earshot soon after.

Albert on the other hand lingered in that spot for some time, unmoved both physically and mentally. It was only when the creeping chill in the air started invading under his clothes that he was convinced that he wasn’t proving a point to anyone by staying put out of spite.

Some ten minutes later when he made it into Strawberry, he made it a point to avoid the hotel he had rented with Arthur five years ago.

* * *

_ BRAWL OVER BARD’S CROSSING _

_ October 9th, 1904 _

_ Regular readers of this paper will unfortunately be aware of the resurgence of violence at the hands of the disbanded Van der Linde gang. It seems the surviving members are intent on only forcing terrible ends on each other however. The following incident appears to be the latest such example. _

_ Eyewitnesses aboard a westbound train from Saint Denis to San Francisco stated that an Arthur Morgan boarded the train at Flatneck Station and openly identified Charles Smith, the man who initiated a shootout in Rhodes on Wednesday, October 5th. The two men immediately engaged in fisticuffs after two shots were fired harmlessly into the ceiling. Somehow the fight ended up on top of the moving car, and several passengers attested to seeing Mister Smith thrown over the side when the train was at the midpoint of the Bard’s Crossing bridge. When the train slowed and the crew was able to conduct a thorough search of the cars, Arthur Morgan was not found. Likewise, no body was recovered at the mouth of the mighty Dakota River. A passenger who was taking a portrait of his wife took and provided the accompanying photographs. _

_ As mentioned in previous stories, local authorities are urging citizens to share any information on the whereabouts of the Van der Linde gang while maintaining a safe distance from them. _

_ [The article is accompanied by two images; one of a man holding a gun being pinned against the wall by another man, the other of a motion-blurred body falling over the side of a bridge.] _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate when I spend like an hour proofreading and editing a chapter to a point when I’m ready to post and then AO3’s like, “Okay sis, but we’re gonna need a title…” and then I just sit there staring at it for another fifteen minutes until I can think of one.
> 
> I like to imagine there’s an up-and-coming journalist at the Saint Denis Times that’s getting all of Albert’s tips that just really likes alliterative headlines.
> 
> Can’t believe it took me this long to finally look up how people developed photographs with turn-of-the-century technology. Best I could tell, Albert would’ve used something called the “Wet Collodion Process”, which involves glass plates and about four different carcinogens. Hate to say it, but our boy probably wouldn’t have had a long life with constant exposure to these chemicals, but we’re just gonna breeze right on past that not-so-fun fact!
> 
> Also could you even imagine being Arthur, going five years without hearing the phrases, “Just have some faith”/”I have a plan,” only to eventually hear them again coming out of your spouse’s mouth? I would just sprint into the hills and become a recluse; could not be me. I really do see Albert as someone who undervalues himself despite asking others to not do that with themselves. He strikes me as the kind of guy who prides himself on his intelligence, so when that pride is challenged and upended he doesn’t handle it well. This is well past the point of exacting revenge for kidnapping Jack; this is strictly personal for Albert now. But I also just really enjoy writing arguments for some reason, haha
> 
> The further I get on this work, the more glad I am that I didn’t stick to strictly one character’s point of view the whole time. It’s so much more liberating kind of floating around to whoever’s frame of reference paints a better picture for a given scene.
> 
> Getting close to the end now! Let me know how you think it’ll end.


	23. Balance and Absence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John returns. The final name on his list dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, how’s the home buying process going you ask? Here, let me fill you in. *ahem*
> 
> (Screams without stopping for ten minutes.)
> 
> But it’s fine. We’re fine; everything’s fine now.
> 
> It’s fine.
> 
> ...
> 
> This chapter picks up the same evening we left off.

The others gave Arthur a wide swath of free space when he returned to their spot in the woods. He didn’t speak to any of them and turned in early with just a bedroll on the outskirts of their makeshift camp, too upset to bother setting up a tent.

He ignored their hushed conversations and frequent mentions of his name.

* * *

_ 10/8/04 _

_ I’m losing him. _

_ Albert is  _ _ obsessed _ _ with this plan to trick Milton. He’s quiet all the time now and acts strange whenever someone mentions Milton. He doesn’t hear me talking half the time I’m saying something to him, too wrapped up in his own head. I’m beginning to think that something else happened between them in Blackwater, but he won’t talk to me. _

_ He’s reminding me of how Dutch sounded at the end. I’m  _ _ not _ _ gonna let him go down the same path. _

_ [The bottom of the page has a sketch that was abandoned and scribbled over before it was finished.] _

* * *

The problem was he couldn’t get the perspective right. Normally something like this wouldn’t give him so much trouble, but evidently he was still too distracted with the argument from the day before. As such, Arthur aborted the attempt to draw the view he had on top of the train as it went over Bard’s Crossing. With a few erratic and frustrated strokes of the pencil, he intentionally ruined the sketch and debated trying again on a new sheet when the sound of an apple being bitten into distracted him.

Panning his eyes up, he noticed for the first time that Javier was seated just a few feet away.

“Charles got you good I see.” Javier smirked and used his knife to peel more of the apple’s skin off before going for another bite.

Arthur thumbed at his lip, still stinging from that left hook Charles surprised him with.

“He warned me beforehand he wouldn’t hold back. Guess he wasn’t kiddin’.” Javier chuckled, but Arthur jerked his chin up and continued, “What’re you doing that for?”

Javier looked up, then down at his hands, then back to Arthur. “I don’t like the skin.”

“Skin’s the best part.”

Javier pushed the small pile of discarded skin on the ground towards Arthur with his boot.

“Help yourself.”

Arthur rolled his eyes; it was too early for him to entertain antics, and he wasn’t in the mood anyway. He took the brief pause to look around; he was seated with his back to a tree a fair but not unsafe distance away from where the others had slept. Everything felt muted and quiet on that grey, chilly morning. Good hunting weather; it’d be easier to hear and track a deer from farther away in these conditions.

“No, what I’m really doing is wondering when you’re gonna share what’s in that book,” Javier mused as he continued whittling away at the fruit in his hands. Arthur promptly snapped the journal shut with a satisfying  _ thwip. _

“Get in line,” he deadpanned.

“Come on, Arthur. How long have we known each other? And you still never let me have a peek?”

“I ain’t that interestin’, I don’t know why you all were always so keen to read it,” he mumbled as he twisted around to shove the object back into its home in his satchel. In doing so he winced at a new bruise in his side, courtesy of Charles, while Javier finished off the apple and tossed the core over his shoulder for some lucky critter to discover later.

“Guy like you who’s always out traveling and hardly ever talks when you come back? You  _ gotta _ have stories. I always just figured you wrote ‘em down instead of telling them to us.”

Arthur had stories alright. Stories of killing young and angry men, stories of the most grisly decapitations he’d ever seen, stories of being beaten with an inch of his life by men who’d die themselves the next morning. And those were just the most recent ones.

He looked at Javier with a demeanor that warned not to ask about these stories.

“Not all of them are worth tellin’.”

Javier met the stare with his own, no doubt replaying his own darkest moments. “That’s fair,” he eventually nodded.

That wasn’t to say they were all bad stories; that journal now resting at the small of his back wasn’t solely a museum of morbid misadventures, but it certainly wouldn’t make for a lighthearted read. There wasn’t much that was lighthearted about his life at all ever since John showed up panicked that day almost two months ago now. The only bright spots that came to mind were finding out his friends were still alive and some specific private moments with Albert that he  _ definitely _ was not going to share with Javier.

He wondered when he’d get that side of Albert back.

He didn’t want to risk rising a temper again thinking about last evening’s argument, but it segued into a new prompt anyway. Before he could stop himself the question came forth, “So what do you make of this whole plan?”

Javier re-sheathed his knife and had been enjoying the lull in conversation, but he met the question with a nonchalant shrug. “Think it’s more complicated than it needs to be. But at least people will think I’m dead now, which might make it easier to hide from the law or my old Boys. Still, think it’d be easier to just find Milton and shoot him.”

“Al thinks it’s safer to do it this way,” Arthur said reflexively. Defending Albert, even when the man wasn’t there and they weren’t on speaking terms. Javier twisted the comment to turn the conversation elsewhere however.

“What is the deal with that guy by the way? I get that you all trust him, but why? Who is he really?”

This was the third or fourth time Javier had asked some variation of the question, always in a direct manner like this. It got harder to deflect each time, and for some reason it got harder to tell the truth as well. But Arthur tried his luck one more time.

“He’s… a good friend I’ve known for a while now.”

It was a stuttered and unconvincing delivery, nothing at all like he intended, but hopefully his body language could pick up the slack. Arthur lazily slumped back into the tree and panned the area with his eyes, as if that was a satisfying answer and the topic was over.

It was hard not to feel Javier’s brazenly skeptical stare.

“He’s more than just a friend to you, isn’t he?”

Arthur kept his gaze trained on an unremarkable tree stump in the distance and froze. All of his senses felt dulled as the question stunned him into inaction as efficiently as an actual blow to the back of the head would have.

Javier was always smart in his own way, Arthur knew that. Always good at reading people and thinking on the fly, knowing how to flatter a mark just as well as he could intimidate one. It made sense that he’d picked up on a tell or two that hinted at the true nature of Arthur and Albert’s relationship, especially after traveling with the two of them the past few days. Maybe he even figured it out back at the meeting in Thieves’ Landing, or that strange morning back at Rhodes. Whenever he did, he clearly knew now.

And that shamed Arthur.

Shamed him because how could he call Javier a friend while keeping something like this a secret? Something literally everyone else who was involved in this plan knew about. How could he ask Albert to continue this lie, ask the very man he’d once told, ‘I’d tell the whole world about you if I could’ to pretend to be anything other than the best thing that ever happened to Arthur?

The tree stump in the distance didn’t have any answers for him, but Arthur already knew what he was going to say. It took nearly half a minute before he could meet Javier’s gaze again.

“He is. He’s my lover. I met him years ago, when we were still in the gang and kept him a secret… But I’m not hidin’ him no more. And I don’t give a damn if you got a problem with it.”

It probably wasn’t wise to threaten a man who had drawn a gun on him in anger as recently as a week ago, but he didn’t find anger in Javier’s expression. What was there instead was curiosity that slowly gave way to…  _ amusement. _

“What’s so funny?,” he demanded. Javier broke into a full-on grin.

“Sadie already told me last night. I just wanted to watch you squirm for a bit.”

The numbness returned, just for a moment, before yielding to a combination of annoyance and relief.

“You evil bastard…”

“It’s fine, brother,” Javier laughed. “I just didn’t know you had it in you. But he seems fine, I see why you like him, even if he is a little boring. Besides, it means more women for me!”

“I didn’t say nothin’ about not fancyin’ women anymore…,” Arthur grumbled. Not that he was doing anything about those urges, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still there from time to time.

“Ah, I see... Still, I don’t got a problem with it. It’s not like any of us are going to heaven anyway with all the shit we’ve done, right?”

Now  _ that _ was a strange justification that Arthur wasn’t expecting, even if it was better than a lack of acceptance at all. Javier forced a chuckle and stood up, wearing that smile with no mirth behind it, using that humor that wasn’t humor. Arthur watched, but stayed in place.

“What, you think it’s too late to change that? Do more good to outdo the bad?” Javier seemed equally blindsided by the follow-up by the way he paused.

“I think we’ve hurt a lot of people, Arthur. It’d take a lot of work to undo all of  _ my _ sins.”

A montage of not even half of the times Albert had called him a good man flickered through Arthur’s mind, including the few times when he almost allowed himself to believe it. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m willin’ to try.”

Javier said nothing to that. Instead he opted to turn away, leaning against another tree and facing back towards their campsite and the horses. It was very well possible that he was thinking about the possibility for the first time, only just now challenging his defeatist mindset on the topic of morality and redemption.

Admittedly, it was a lot to think about. Arthur had five years to think about it and still didn’t truly know where the balance of his good and bad deeds would eventually fall.

At the very least it was too much to think about on an empty stomach.

Arthur grunted as he hoisted himself up off the ground to stand next to his friend and changed the subject yet again. “What’re your plans once all this is done?”

Javier needed another moment to think about it, still facing straight ahead at Boaz and away from Arthur. “Stay the hell away from Fort Mercer, that’s for sure. Maybe see if I can get John to part with some of that Blackwater money, then… I don’t know. I’ve been thinking, but haven’t made up my mind. Going back to Mexico is probably still a bad idea. Maybe I’d head out all the way to California? I don’t know. What about you?”

“I just wanna go home, go back to being  _ boring _ with Al,” he admitted as he brushed past on his way to tend to Ivy.

“Better plan than I’ve got,” Javier conceded and followed after.

The small clearing had the telltale scent of an extinguished campfire that would be resurrected later in the evening. It seemed none the other three hadn’t bothered with a full tent setup in case the makeshift group of outlaws - two of which were supposed to be dead - had to make a run for it. He was still expecting to see Sadie or Charles if not both of them, but neither were present.

“Where’d those two go off to?”

“Went out to go look for John,” Javier explained. “Something about a letter he got?”

Nodding, “Al wrote to him a few days back, told John to meet him in town to go over the plan.”

Ivy stamped at the ground in irritation at being kept waiting for a morning treat and brushing for so long. Arthur had never met a more temperamental animal, save for The Count.

_ Whatever happened to that bastard? Bet he finally got sent off to the glue factory. Bet he took a few fellers out with him, too. _

Arthur smirked to himself at the thought as he started rummaging through Ivy’s saddlebags. Javier rounded the other side of the horse to make eye contact with him over the saddle.

“He’s going to kill you tomorrow, is that right?”

Arthur really hated the wording of that. Not enough to correct his friend though.

“That’s the idea,” he sighed.

Javier approached Boaz, petting the American Paint on the side of its broad neck. “Then what?”

“We lay low for a bit, wait for the rest of Milton’s men to leave him, then we go look for him.”

“You know, much as I’d enjoy a big shootout with all of us against his boys - ‘cus I know we’re better - I think I’m coming around to this idea of outnumbering him. Can’t wait to see how scared he’s gonna look.”

Javier contented himself with the idea as he started pampering over Boaz, occasionally humming tunes that Arthur hadn’t heard in literal years.

Arthur tried to think about anything besides Milton.

* * *

For all the things Hosea had taught Arthur, wood whittling was not one of them. Not that he hadn’t offered time and again, but Arthur always found a reason to find something better to do. Holding the misshapen chunk of wood in his hands that neither he nor it could decide what it wanted to be, he found himself finding yet another new reason to chide his younger self.

It took longer than he expected for Charles and Sadie to find John. Or more likely, the three of them had spent an afternoon catching up together with Albert back in town. Without Arthur.

Was that why he was still situated in the same spot, seated in the dark, just outside the reaches of Javier’s rekindled fire? There was a very good possibility.

Didn’t stop John from waltzing right up to him with an uncharacteristic swagger.

_ “Good _ evening, Mister Mason.” No discernible slur, so he probably wasn’t drunk, just obnoxiously glib, which was worse.

“Marston,” he replied without looking up. “You know I ain’t callin’ you ‘Milton’ after all this, right?” John grinned.

“I never wanna hear that name again either. I’ll come up with a better one.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the others briefly. “What are you doing all the way over here?”

“Brooding.”

“‘Brooding?’ Who do you think you are?  _ Me?” _

He had to admit, that was a good one, and Arthur groaned through his reluctant smile. He pitched the wooden… whatever it was, over to the side and rose to greet his brother.

“Shut up…”

When they broke from the hug, there was no avoiding noticing the upbeat attitude John was practically radiating. A far cry from the last time Arthur had seen him after that debacle at Thieves’ Landing; this was effectively an entirely different man standing before him.

Before John could ask what he was brooding over, Arthur observed, “You seem good.”

“I am. Much better than when I last saw you. And I have  _ your _ man to thank for that,” John admitted, poking Arthur in the chest at ‘your’ for emphasis.

They’d get to that in time.

“How’s Abigail?” John’s expression faltered, just for a moment, but it was still there.

“She’s good. Wants to go back home, but she understands it’s not safe right now. Just happy to have Jack back; she’s not gonna let the poor kid out of her sight for the next year I feel.”

“He doin’ okay too?” John tilted his head side to side, signalling a more complicated answer.

“He’s a little different. Hates being alone, and doesn’t like the dark now. Took him a few days to start talking to the ranch hands, but I think he’ll be alright. Bonnie finds little things for him to keep busy with.”

“She’s a good woman.”

Nodding, “She is. First time she yelled at Uncle for napping in the stable I knew I’d like her.”

They shared a brief chuckle over the mental image, then both tried speaking at the same time after a beat.

“So about this-“

“How was Al?”

Whatever John was about to say, he yielded and addressed Arthur’s question first.

“He... seemed fine. He was talking real fast, faster than normal, filling me in on everything I missed.”

“Did he mention me?”

Another subtle flinch that John played off with a huff.

“Mentioned how I’m supposed to pretend to kill you tomorrow,” he tried deflecting.

“That all?”

“Didn’t have a chance to say much else before Sadie found us.” Judging by how early she’d left camp and how late the three of them came back from Strawberry, that was a blatant lie. John didn’t give him a chance to contest it however. “Why, you two fighting or something?”

Arthur worked his jaw, then jerked his head further away from the fire that the others were gathered around. John understood, and followed his brother a few feet away where the forest afforded them a little additional privacy.

He was still turned away, offering only his profile to John when he finally spoke in a low tone. “I’m worried about him.”

“Why?”

Arthur drummed his fingers against his jaw as he tried to decide where he wanted to begin.

“Do you remember that last week at the house?” When John seemed confused, he clarified, “Before the bank job?”

John’s eyes went wide with confusion, but he nodded. “That was a while ago, but yeah.”

“What was Dutch like that week?” John frowned, either out of frustration at not knowing where this was going or for being asked to dig up the memory of that time at all.

“Excited, mostly? I knew he was cooking something up with Hosea, but he didn’t tell us what until a few days beforehand. But it was all he would talk about once he came out with it, don’t you remember?”

“We weren’t talkin’ at all that week…,” Arthur confessed.

John hummed but continued, “Well don’t you remember those stupid speeches he was giving from the balcony every night?”

“I was always up front on guard duty, I couldn’t hear him.”

Now thoroughly confused, John just came out with it. “What’s this got to do with Al?”

Arthur began pacing.

“He’s got this whole...  _ plan _ in his head that he’s  _ convinced _ is gonna work, like Dutch did. And it might, but I’m worried about what he’ll do if it don’t.”

“Al’s not like Dutch,” John pointed out. And it was a point Arthur would concede; Albert had little in common with the career conman wanted in every state he ever set foot in. But it was the fact that they both had the safety and future of multiple people riding on the success of their strategies and decisions...  _ that _ was the key similarity that worried Arthur.

_ “Dutch _ wasn’t like Dutch at the end though. Once everything started goin’ to shit, once his  _ plans _ stopped workin’ out for us, he turned into a madman. He-...”

He thought back to that last night at Shady Belle, when Dutch was so furious and distraught that he almost pulled a gun on Arthur. How Arthur had to seriously debate if it would’ve been safer to be faster on the draw and put down his own father figure of twenty years on the same night they both lost Hosea.

John wasn’t at the house that night. Arthur didn’t even know if he knew about that incident, but he forced the memory away.

“I just don’t want that happenin’ to Al if this new plan don’t pan out,” he said.

John sounded nervous when he asked, “Why wouldn’t it work?” His concern was justified, seeing as John had the most riding on this plan succeeding; Milton only knew where John lived, and John would likely be the one to set up the final meeting with the Pinkerton.

“What if we go through all this and Milton realizes it’s all lies?,” Arthur proposed. “What if he convinces all his boys to stick with him anyway, and we walk right into another train job situation where we’re outnumbered four-to-one?”

“We’ll be careful about it and back out if that happens,” John offered weakly.

“But then what? We’d have wasted all this time runnin’ around shooting’ each other with nothing to show for it. What’s to stop Milton from goin’ to the law and gettin’ our bounties re-posted? We’d have to give up everything!” He threw his hands up in the air in frustration for effect. John slowly shook his head.

“He can’t prove that you’re all still alive though. Besides, Al said there were witnesses every time.”

Arthur stopped pacing and leaned against a tree with his forearm raised, but still did not face John directly. “Can’t prove we’re dead, neither. Wonder if Al thought of  _ that…” _

“Look, it’s a complicated plan, but it’s better than anything  _ I _ could come up with,” John contested, circling around to get in Arthur’s face. “And I know Javier wants to just find Milton and be done with it, but I’d rather not go up against a bunch of agents and ‘volunteers’ out for revenge if we can help it. I doubt Milton’s ever alone anyway.”

“I  _ know, _ but-“

“But  _ what, _ Arthur?,” the younger man angrily interrupted. “You wanna just go back to my ranch and wait for him to show up with a whole army of men behind him? He could’ve burned the whole place down for all I know!”

“No! I didn’t-“

“You wanna just give up and go into hiding? Move across the country again?”

“No!”

“Then  _ what? _ What do you  _ want?” _

“I don’t wanna kill Milton!”

They were not so far away that the others would not have been able to hear that outburst. Arthur didn’t care.

John said nothing so he continued, lower, “I’m tired of killing folk. I’m tired of givin’ people reasons to hate us.”

John drew his brows together in anger and shook his head. “We’re doing this to defend ourselves though. Milton put  _ us _ in this situation, not the other way around. I don’t know what  _ you’re _ doing, but I’m defending my  _ family. _ And if we have to put him in the ground to do it, I will.”

It was a statement and a sentiment that would have left Arthur stunned years ago. That the man who abandoned his woman and own newborn son for a year could come around and say something like that and mean it should have stirred pride in Arthur. But now it just saddened him further.

Arthur hung his head, showing how tired he felt, and spoke to the ground, “Do we deserve to?”

John blinked hard. He took a step back.

“What did you just say?”

“How many men have you ever killed, Marston?”

“This again?,” John spat with disgust. Arthur raised his gaze.

“You don’t know, do you? You can’t remember them all,” he accused. John’s mouth hung open, but no response came for a few seconds. “I can’t neither.”

“We… we were young and stupid and didn’t know any better. It’s not like I’m still going around shooting at anyone who looks at me funny. This is different; Milton is different!”

This particular Pinkerton agent certainly was upending Arthur’s life in a way no other adversary before had. Not even during the worst of their feuding had someone like Colm or Cornwall had this much effect over Arthur’s personal life. He’d always had people he loved and cared about, sure, but the gang was always mobile; now that he had a permanent home for the first time since childhood and he couldn’t and didn’t want to just run away again, the threat had to be taken more seriously.

“I’m tryin’ to change. Be the man Al thinks I am, leave behind the man Milton thinks I  _ still _ am, put more good in the world than I took out of it. Kinda hard to do that when I’ve got murder on the mind.”

John recognized it as a fair sentiment, even if he didn’t seem happy with it. He crossed his arms and challenged, “So what would you do? Say Milton was right here, right now, at your mercy. What would you do?”

What would a good man do? Turn the other cheek? Ask Milton to kindly leave them alone then turn his back to him? It seemed foolish and naive to assume mercy would beget anything other than a knife in the back from someone like Milton. But the only other option...

“I don’t know,” Arthur answered truthfully after a pause to genuinely consider it.

John frowned, unsatisfied.

“I know what  _ I’d  _ do.”

Arthur didn’t look up to watch his brother walk back towards the others.

He moved his bedroll a little further from the fire that night.

* * *

It wasn’t as muddy as Valentine, but Strawberry’s main drag was barely more than a glorified dirt path that just happened to have some buildings adjacent to it. For a place trying to bill itself as a tourist destination, one would think they’d put more effort into the infrastructure. Or maybe the rustic quality of it all was the point. The sun’s steadfast refusal to revisit this region over the past two days somehow made everything seem filthier, but in a more natural way; not like the fine layer of ash that covered  _ everything _ in Saint Denis.

After hitching Ivy outside the General Store, Arthur, alone, climbed up the steps to the shop, willing his nerves to ease. He’d testily run through the plan with John one more time that morning before they left camp separately, but there was always some degree of improvisation involved with something like this. He just had to hope John’s aim had stayed sharp all these years and that a “near miss” shot didn’t become a “not missed” one.

Up ahead and to the right, a man with a tripod set up in the street was openly peddling portraits to anyone who walked by the front of the hotel, local and tourist alike. Right in the center of town, it was an awfully convenient location to be in should anything  _ exciting _ happen today.

He couldn’t be seen talking to Albert beforehand. He wasn’t sure what he’d even say anyway.

Instead, Arthur finished his ascent and began reaching out for the door handle that led into the shop when the door swung open towards him, as if he’d somehow accidentally summoned it. The man exiting nearly crashed into Arthur, and they both recoiled, equally surprised by the other’s sudden appearance. When surprise momentarily gave way to recognition, it returned back tenfold for the both of them.

“Hello, sir,” Agent Fordham greeted, trying to mask his emotions as the door swung shut behind him. He wasn’t actively reaching for a weapon or using any threatening body language at all, and the mere fact that he’d addressed Arthur at all was surprising.

“What’re  _ you _ doing here?”

“I could ask you the same.”

They studied each other for a beat. To Arthur it seemed like the agent was almost trying to be friendly, cordial at the very least, which was certainly not the attitude a Pinkerton should have towards a known career criminal.

“I’m just passin’ through,” he responded evasively.

Gesturing past Arthur towards the town’s eastern entrance with a newspaper in one hand, Fordham said. “As luck would have it, I’m also just about to leave.”

“Why? Goin’ to run off to your boss to tell on me?”

“Have you seen him?”

Not the question he was expecting, but nothing about this encounter was going how Arthur expected so far.

“No? Why?” Fordham motioned to step to the side, out of the way so they were no longer blocking the entrance to the store. Against his better judgment, Arthur followed him to a deck that overlooked the river and mill that bisected the town.

“I’ve been tasked with finding my former supervisor, or at least making a good show of trying to find him.”

“Former?,” Arthur repeated. Fordham dipped his head low.

“I suppose you wouldn’t know this. Mister Andrew Milton is no longer employed by the Pinkerton Detective Agency you see.”

“You don’t say…”

Fordham continued, “After the Tri-State Killer debacle, he was placed under an internal review. The audit found that he’d been siphoning away money from clients to himself, for some kind of ‘side-project’ involving other agents.”

Arthur rested his hands on his hips, trying to strike a relaxed posture and conceal his interest. “Seems bad for business.”

“The higher-ups didn’t care for that at all, no,” Fordham mused.

“What happened to the other agents?”

Fordham sighed, then began, “Agent Ross was likewise found complicit and released. Agent Burns has not been responding to any correspondence or telegrams; he likely caught wind of what was happening and skipped town, but I’m due to visit Blackwater and check in with him anyway.”

“Pretty sure there was one more agent…,” Arthur prompted. Fordham actually offered him something resembling a genuine smirk, as if this entire interaction wasn’t already strange enough.

“The youngest agent realized he has many years ahead of him and wants to be employed for them. It wasn’t  _ his _ fault his superiors pressured him into a fruitless endeavor for personal revenge.”

“So now he’s in Strawberry-,” Arthur supplied.

“Getting supplies before hitting the road, poking around Blackwater for a few days, then going back home to say I did everything I could,” Fordham picked up.

_ Does he know what happened to Burns? _ Arthur wasn’t about to inform him; it sounded like the man had already made up his mind about his former coworker.

“Not a bad outcome. But why’re you tellin’ me all this?”

Perhaps it was a rookie mistake, or more likely a subtle show of trust, but Fordham turned away from Arthur to lean forward onto the railing. He looked out to watch the running water of the creek below them and Arthur repositioned himself to be near, but not too near, to the agent’s side.

“Two reasons I suppose. First is to repay a debt I don’t want hanging over my head...”

There was no sense bringing up what had happened at that old mansion any more directly than that. Arthur was content to leave the incident left unsaid.

“And the second?”

Fordham shrugged humbly. “I’m a young man, Mister-...  _ sir,” _ he caught himself before identifying Arthur. “I’ve no interest in chasing down last-century gunslingers. No, I’m more interested in tackling the problems of the future. That’s why I’m content to leave the past behind.”

The agent pushed off from the railing and faced Arthur directly.

“That is, of course, assuming the past  _ stays _ in the past.”

A younger, shorter-tempered Arthur would’ve perceived that as a threat if not an outright challenge. But now he was mature enough to see it as the olive branch that it was, and he wasn’t about to go wasting it.

Arthur nodded once in agreement. “Maybe it’s time fellers like me fade away quietly, let you young folk run things for a bit.” Fordham seemed pleased with the answer and took a step past Arthur, heading back for the stairs.

“That’s probably for the best for everyone involved.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you got a long career of bustin’ up unions ahead of you,” Arthur teased. Fordham halted, and for a moment Arthur wondered if he’d pushed his luck too far, but the agent huffed after a pause.

“You’re better informed than I gave you credit for. No offense.”

“Been readin’ the papers a lot lately,” Arthur explained. Fordham turned on his heel to face him again.

“As have I... My condolences, by the way.”

_ Does he believe Bill and Javier are actually dead? _ It was too risky to outright ask something like that.

Instead, Arthur panned his eyes down to the folded paper that still rested under the younger man’s arm. News of their own ‘side-project’ seemed to be making their way into the papers about two days after the fact, so he asked “You didn’t happen to catch the latest issue, did you?”

“Haven’t read it yet,” Fordham admitted. Then he cocked a curious eyebrow, “Am I going to find anything interesting in it?”

“Maybe,” he answered with a wry smile.

Fordham cautiously looked over his shoulder back at the main road. They both could hear Albert trying to court people to stand in front of his camera that just happened to be set up in the middle of town instead of an indoor studio; not at all how most portrait photographers made their business. There was a pensive look on his face as he twisted back around.

“Is something  _ interesting _ about to happen in Strawberry?”

_ Sharp kid. _

Arthur’s grin widened.  _ “Maybe.”  _ Fordham held his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose for a beat.

“It’d be an awful shame if something  _ interesting _ were to transpire when a Pinkerton agent was close enough to be expected to intervene.”

Finally feeling like he could let his guard down, Arthur fished out his pocket watch and playfully pretended to study it. “I figure you got about ten minutes before somethin’ interesting happens around here.”

Fordham didn’t need to be told twice.

“Then I’d best be on my way.” He tipped his hat and before turning away he lingered, as if suddenly struggling with his thoughts. He opted to simply go with, “I truly hope this is the last time we see each other.”

Arthur tipped his own hat in response.

“Likewise.”

The agent waved and was down the stairs and spurring a horse east and out of town not a minute later. Arthur gave the man some extra time to put distance between them before taking a deep sigh and pushing on the door to enter the General Store. He’d kept John and Albert waiting long enough.

* * *

_ STRAWBERRY SHOOTOUT _

_ 10/11/1904 _

_ In what has become an unfortunately regular affair as of late, the last remnants of the Van der Linde gang have continued to mete out violence upon one another with reckless disregard for innocent bystanders. The perpetrators of this particular incident were identified by eyewitnesses to be one Arthur Morgan and one John Marston, both of whom were previously presumed to be dead before this year. _

_ First-hand accounts claim that the two men encountered each other inside the General Store in Strawberry, WE, whereupon they immediately accused the other of betraying their former gang. Gunshots opened fire soon afterwards, and before the shopowner could return fire and fell the outlaws, the fight had traversed outdoors into the main street. A traveling portrait photographer who was operating outside a nearby hotel provided the accompanying images. Inhabitants of the town were instantly reminded of the infamous Strawberry Massacre of 1899, also perpetrated by the Van der Linde gang, and fled indoors, limiting the number of reliable accounts. _

_ Before the local sheriff’s department could enforce order, the pair fled south out of town, continuing to fire on each other until a devastating explosion was heard. Based upon the few available testimonies, local authorities believe Mister Morgan attempted to lure Mister Marston below a cliff edge that was primed with dynamite, but only succeeded in crushing himself in the resulting rockslide. Initial attempts to dislodge the boulders to find and identify any bodies caught within them have been unsuccessful. _

_ As mentioned in previous stories, local authorities are urging citizens to share any information on the whereabouts of the Van der Linde gang while maintaining a safe distance from them. _

_ [The article is accompanied by two images; one of two men taking cover and firing at each other in front of a storefront, the other of a massive cliff face with several carriage-sized boulders at the foot of the slope.] _

* * *

_ 10/12/04 _

_ And now we wait. _

_ [Sketch of Ivy and Old Boy, grazing side-by-side in profile.] _

* * *

‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’ was one of those flowery phrases that Mary-Beth would often swoon over in her books as if it were a universal truth. Arthur, on the rare occasion when he would relinquish his role as the gang’s workhorse for an afternoon, would sometimes indulge her in a conversation about her latest book. He would always roll his eyes when she waxed poetic like that though; he never bought into the romantic proverbs that would easily roll off her tongue. “It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all,” was another perennial favorite he could still hear in her voice.

But now on the fifth day of not seeing Albert, he had a newfound understanding of the saying. He was ready to risk the whole plan and march right back into Strawberry to find the man.

Not that he was going to, but it was maddening how the last conversation they’d had had been an unresolved argument. He understood Albert would need access to a hotel room to properly develop the pictures before sending them off. He understood Arthur couldn’t just show up back in town when he was supposed to be dead. He understood that Sadie had stayed behind and would escort Albert back to the others so that he wouldn’t be traveling alone.

That didn’t mean he enjoyed anything about the current situation.

But understanding his current state of mind went a long way towards explaining the way he snapped his journal shut and sprung from the ground at the sound of approaching horses. Situated in a small clearing north of Owanjila and far from the nearest road, there was no other party it could be making their way out here, and his suspicions were confirmed soon enough.

Sadie kept a hand raised to block the late afternoon sun out of her eyes before dismounting and greeting John and the others with some snarky comment about being a bounty hunter finding a bunch of outlaws hiding in the woods. Arthur didn’t catch the exact wording; he was too focused on Albert.

The photographer also dismounted and after stretching out his back from the journey, quickly locked eyes with Arthur who was standing a close but safe distance away. He didn’t frown or immediately pick up the argument where it left off, which Arthur figured was as good a sign he was going to get.

Arthur cleared his throat and opened with, “Need me to carry anything for you?... Like your camera stuff or-“

Albert took two large steps forward and threw his arms around Arthur’s neck. He wasn’t crying, and his breath didn’t sound hitched, but there were still strong emotions in the embrace that Arthur immediately returned. There was an unmistakable sense of  _ rightness _ as he held the man in his arms, like finally fitting together two puzzle pieces that should have never been separated in the first place.

“You know I didn’t  _ actually _ die, right?,” he eventually teased after a stretch of time.

Albert didn’t remove his face from the side of Arthur’s neck when he replied, “Doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you.”

Arthur instinctively began running a hand up and down Albert’s back without realizing he was doing it.

“I missed you too.”

In a way, he was glad he finally cleared the air with Javier, because there would have been no easy explanation for the sight the two of them were making. Not that Javier seemed to be paying much attention at that moment; Sadie was distracting the others with some kind of photograph that Albert had taken of her.

When he finally pulled back, not letting go, but only enough so they could face each other, Albert apologized. “I’m sorry for what happened the other day.”

“It’s fine, Al.” It was an automatic response, and Arthur definitely still had his concerns, but he mostly just wanted to put the fight behind them. Albert pressed on however.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. This has just been a very stressful few weeks and I suppose I’m putting all my eggs in one basket on this plan.”

“You didn’t know what you were sayin’ was… you never met Dutch,” he excused.

“I know. I’m just sorry I reminded you of that side of him. I want to protect you, and this is the best way I can think how.”

“I’m a big boy, I don’t need no one protectin’ me,” Arthur deflected. Albert narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to one side.

“Is that so? How about what happened in that cellar last month?”

Arthur expected he’d be a touch more reluctant to go down the stairs into their basement after  _ that _ incident. At least for a little while.

“Alright, you saved my skin that time. But I still got you beat in that department.” Albert’s smile changed from sarcastic to warm.

“And I’ll never dispute that. But that doesn’t mean I won’t try to even the score from time to time when I have to.”

John finally started calling the pair to come back over and start preparing dinner with them. Arthur waved at him to give them a moment.

“I hope you won’t have to ever again after all this.” Albert sighed, liked the very possibility of going back to a normal life was a lie they kept telling themselves.

“Me too.”

* * *

It was decided that the entire group would break up into pairs and travel south, to the MacFarlane Ranch. Short of going back all the way to Saint Denis and launching a full-on assault against the Pinkerton offices - an idea that Sadie seemed at least tangentially open to - returning to Beecher’s Hope appeared to be the best bet to contact Milton and whatever remained of his allies. Even still, knowing that, John insisted on seeing Abigail and Jack one last time and letting them know what he was planning before beginning what would hopefully be the end of this dangerous chapter of their lives.

Two days later, John and Javier had gone first and were likely already at the ranch on this clear-skied morning that found Arthur and Albert crossing the Lower Montana; Sadie and Charles would be maybe half an hour behind them, barring complications.

Unlike their previous ride, Albert kept the conversation alive, mostly talking about other stories floating around in the newspaper. He also mentioned a few unfortunate ‘clients’ he somehow actually managed to rope into taking a photograph in front of that hotel while Arthur was taking his time to start the shootout. Of course, Albert didn’t have enough film left to spare to actually  _ take _ the portraits, but he did pretend to go through the motions and even took their money with a promise to send the nonexistent photos to addresses he took down.

“You really came up with a scam on the fly like that? You woulda made Hosea proud,” Arthur chuckled. He thought maybe he’d struck a nerve when Albert didn’t respond, but glancing to the other man on his left he didn’t notice anger, but concern.

Arthur followed Albert’s line of sight to the thick plume of smoke rising into the air, slashing across the morning blue like a tear in fabric. Far too large for a simple campfire and too early in the day to be some sort of festive bonfire. He could have passed it off for a naturally-ocurring brushfire were it not for the distant sounds of gunfire coming from the same direction.

Coming from the MacFarlane Ranch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (John was wearing a bandana during the Strawberry Massacre of ‘99, that’s why he was even able to get into the town here. Also forgot to give Charles a single line of dialogue -whoops!)
> 
> God, this chapter just did not want to be written. I’ve been busy as hell lately, but I’ve also been reading a ton of great fics and thinking, “Wow, this is way better than my writing.” So not only did I fall out of practice for a bit, but now I’m judging myself harder than I have before, and I’m starting to get fatigued with this story because it’s been “completed” in my head for weeks at this point, I just haven’t made the effort to write it down to share yet, which isn’t fair to you guys.
> 
> Getting close to the end now, so I also was like, “I should re-read the earlier chapters and make sure I don’t forget about any open plot points.” And predictably, I did find some things I’d forgotten about, but I also found the occasional typo or sentence I wanted to re-word, so I ended up editing a bunch of the earlier chapters of this work. There was also the matter that (to me) this was just… a boring chapter. It was just a bunch of conversations with little action. But next chapter? HOO BOY, I really hope I stick the landing on that one, because we’re going full action movie on that one.
> 
> Also, this is the last time the chapter count will climb again, I swear this time! In my original chapter layout, I had the train scene over Bard’s Crossing, everything that happened here and everything that will happen in the next one rolled into one chapter which in retrospect was a tad ambitious.
> 
> Finally, and this will be relevant for the next chapter, I forgot to mention something about this iteration of the MacFarlane Ranch in the earlier chapters of this work. In my version, there is a building on the ranch with showers, and in those showers there are 18 naked cowb- *NSA sniper outside my window takes the shot, killing me instantly*


	24. “...As you think you are”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur looks for his friends. Albert faces a foe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *punches a fist through the soil as I begin climbing out of my grave*
> 
> So, as expected, December has been kicking my ass. My move is finally complete but I’m still dealing with selling the old place (and ya boi is capital ‘B’ Broke until that happens). More to the point though, I completely forgot how to write and was even intimidated by the idea of coming back to this work; I really struggled with getting my footing again vis-a-vis my writing process. Even had to go back and re-read a bunch of chapters just to remind myself where the hell I’d left off or what had led up to that point.
> 
> Also, this is the longest single chapter I’ve ever put out. There’s a lot going on here and I just didn’t have it in me to break it apart and increase the chapter count again; something had to give so we just got a really long one here.
> 
> Shit’s about to go down.
> 
> Alexa, play “American Venom”
> 
> This chapter picks up immediately where we left off.

Penny was a fine animal; past her prime but still well-suited for long journeys at a comfortable pace. Routine trips back and forth from Tall Trees to Blackwater were more her speed. Sudden bursts and sprints? Not so much.

She didn’t have a chance of catching up with Ivy.

As soon the sounds of guns being fired - _lots_ of guns - reached them, Arthur had spurred his horse as fast as she would go, and she happily obliged. Albert’s cries to wait for him fell on deaf ears as Arthur imagined all kinds of scenarios awaiting him, not knowing what he was riding into.

After crossing the short bridge that led onto the ranch proper, Arthur only moderately slowed Ivy down before swinging a leg over her side and hitting the ground running, as if he still had the joints of a man ten years younger. He ignored the spikes of pain in his heels and slung his Lancaster over his shoulder and into position. He took a moment to orient himself, slamming a shoulder into the side of a tree to stop his momentum after sending Ivy off to safety. It sounded like most of the fighting was happening on the far end of the ranch, closer to the train station that serviced the settlement, which was currently out of his line of sight. Before stepping out from cover, he recalled what happened the last time he tried to use this very weapon resting comfortably in his hands at this ranch.

_Lemme double-check. Just in case._

Flipping the repeater onto its side, Arthur peered into the chamber and was satisfied that it was fully loaded and well-oiled, unlikely to jam. He would have further taken the extra time to inspect if the sights were lined up correctly had a bullet not whizzed just past his knee before slamming into the ground between his legs.

Instinctually, he wheeled back around the other side of his tree, dropping the repeater to the ground and readying his Volcanic instead. From the direction the offending bullet had come from, an angry voice shouted out, “I saw you, you bastard! Come out and face me like a man!”

Bonnie did have him pinned down good, from her vantage point of the second-floor balcony again, but Arthur internally breathed a sigh of relief anyway.

“Bonnie, it’s me! It’s Arthur!,” he called out from behind the tree, not daring to expose any part of his body that might tempt a more accurate bullet.

A pause, then, “Arthur? Arthur Mason?”

She couldn’t see the face he pulled at the pseudonym, but this certainly wasn’t the time or place to get into that either. “Yeah, it’s me! What’s goin’ on here?”

“Goddamn Mercer Boys are shooting the place up again. Get out there and help my boys!”

“Yes, ma’am!” Taking a moment to scoop his Lancaster up from the ground and scout for anyone who might’ve spotted him, Arthur left the tree behind and continued deeper into the property. He didn’t have to go far to notice the source of the smoke that had alarmed him in the first place. The very same guest house - more of a hut really - that he and Albert had stayed in during their sojourn and recovery was completely engulfed with flames that threatened to spread to not only to the other cabins but the main house itself.

Not that it could be helped in the present state of combat that was tearing apart the other half of the ranch.

The constant staccato of gunfire had begun to die off by the time Arthur could safely take up cover next to John behind the smith’s building. Wordlessly, John nodded for Arthur to take his spot at the corner while he pulled back to reload. He did so, taking care to peek around the corner. A man’s body laid face-down in the dirt on the road that bisected the ranch, but it seemed the rest of his companions were retreating on horseback to the west, past the rail line. Bonnie’s staff seemed content to fire after the fleeing Mercer Boys without giving chase themselves, too busy tending after their own wounded.

“About time you showed up,” John groused as he rolled his revolver’s chamber shut with a flick of the wrist.

“Don’t give me that, the whole plan was to travel in pairs, you know that. You were always gonna get here before us.”

“What was the point of doing that again?”

“It was supposed to be safer…”

“Do _you_ feel safe right now?”

Arthur pulled back away from the corner and gestured, inviting John to take a look for himself. “A little bit, yeah. Looks like I just missed out on all the fun.”

“Lucky you,” John murmured as he confirmed for himself, but his shoulders eased ever so slightly nonetheless. _“Shit,_ that went on longer than I thought it would.”

“What happened?”

John studied the direction the Mercer Boys, maybe five or six of them, had run off in for a little longer. When he seemed convinced they weren’t feigning a retreat just to come right back, he spoke.

“It started a little before we got here I think, thought it was just target practice until I heard the shouting. Bonnie almost took my head off thinking I was one of ‘em.”

“Her warning shots come pretty damn close…,” Arthur mused. He nodded to Javier as he saw the other man start to approach from wherever he’d been holed up for the fight.

John continued, “We just jumped in the middle of it. Those Mercer Boys never got off their horses, never stopped moving so they were hard to hit, but their aim was just as bad. A whole lotta wasted bullets, and I’m not even sure what for; they didn’t take anything and they didn’t even get near the main house.”

When Javier joined a small circle with them, Arthur asked, “You know what that was about?” Javier shook his head and rested his hands on his hips, looking considerably less tense than John did.

“No clue. This is my first time back in New Austin since… well, you know. Coulda gone worse though, right?”

“Looked like some of Bonnie’s fellers got hurt,” Arthur pointed out, but Javier shrugged it off.

“Yeah, but the only one who died was a Mercer Boy; that old guy got him. And I ain’t talking about you for once!”

Pleased at his own joke, Javier went on to check in with John, but Arthur zoned out on the specifics of that new conversation. Instead, he looked past Javier at the ‘old man’ that was just mentioned. Amos was directing some of the available ranch hands over to the burning building before he turned around and caught Arthur’s gaze. He offered an acknowledging hat tip and began to turn away when his eyes lingered on the back of Javier’s blissfully unaware head.

Amos’ eyes narrowed with suspicion, then widened with recognition and anger. Taking longer-than-average footsteps towards his new target, he silently drew his knife in preparation. Arthur intercepted him only a few feet away from Javier’s back.

“Whoah, hang on there, pal,” he urged, grabbing Amos’ collar who instantly began struggling against the strong grip.

“Don’t give me that shit, let _go_ of me, Arthur!”

“I ain’t gonna let you stab this feller!” Finally Javier and John noticed what was happening just next to them.

“Like hell you ain’t! I’m gonna gut this son-of-a-bitch Mercer Boy!” Amos’ shout was loud enough for some of the other hands to stop scurrying about and focus on Javier. As luck would have it, this was precisely when Bonnie was finally within earshot.

“Arthur, what’s he talking about?,” she asked cautiously.

“My… He’s just confused. Our friend here looks a lot like-”

“No, he’s right,” Javier interrupted. “I used to be a Mercer Boy.” He struck a tone that was as relaxed as his posture, hands resting at the hipline, but close enough to his gun if it was needed. Arthur forced his eyes closed and fought back a sigh.

_So much for playin’ dumb._

“You were there leader, weren’t you?,” Amos accused. “I saw you talking to them like you were some big shot when they nabbed me, and they all listened to you.”

Javier studied the ground, hiding his face under the brim of his hat and toeing a line in the dirt before he nodded and met Amos’ furious glare again. “I was. _Was._ Not anymore.”

Turning his anger towards Arthur who was right in his face, “And you knew!” Arthur winced at being caught in a lie of omission, and tried explaining.

“I knew Javier, but I didn’t know he’d started up a new gang since I’d last seen him.”

“What do you mean ‘new’ gang?,” Bonnie questioned; that didn’t slip past her. Again, Arthur flinched at everything that was coming out, but he was still very much focused on keeping himself between Amos and Javier who was doing nothing to help the situation.

“Look, maybe we ain’t been all the way honest with you about our past, but that’s behind us-“

“You know what, maybe it’s best we all just be on our way,” John interrupted, shooting a glare at Arthur that wordlessly begged him to stop there. Then, to their host he asked, “Where’s my family, Bonnie? Are they up in the main house?”

She shook her head, “They were in… Oh no…” Recognition dawned on her face. Abruptly she turned on her heel and marched back to the guest house that was still bathed in fire. “Someone give me a hand with this fire will you? Higgins, Donovan, watch for more Mercer Boys in case they come back! The rest of you, grab whatever water you can!”

* * *

The building was empty. What remained of it, anyway. It’s charred husk contained no blistered and burned bodies which in and of itself was a blessing as much as it was troubling.

It took the combined efforts of Arthur and Javier to keep John from hurling himself into the burning building before the remaining uninjured hands could pump up enough water from the wells to douse the flames. In the time it had taken to do so, Albert finally arrived and immediately pitched in to help, and even Sadie and Charles made it to the ranch. Collectively, they formed a small gathering next to the smoldering remains.

“Maybe they’re hiding somewhere inside the house?,” John desperately suggested. It was a plausible guess, but it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than anything else.

Bonnie shifted her weight uncomfortably, understanding John’s concern while also harboring a few new ones of her own. “I can send someone to look I suppose, but I don’t want all these new folk creeping around my daddy’s house. And some of my boys are hurt, I’m gonna need to send someone into town to grab Doctor Johnston.”

“Doctor Nate’s not there, he’s still in Saint Denis,” Arthur off-handedly informed. He was busy watching some of the hands in the distance reapply a makeshift tourniquet to a young man who’d seemingly been shot in the arm.

 _“Shit..._ Well there’s another feller who works outta Thieves’ Landing I don’t like working with, but beggars can’t be choosers...” Bonnie whistled and summoned over another man, one who had helped put the fire out, before pulling him aside and softly speaking directions to him out of earshot of the others.

Arthur forced himself to look away from the scene he’d been watching - and how one man in particular had been lingering close to the injured victim with a concerned expression - and took in the more immediate scene around him. All of his friends formed an impromptu circle next to the burnt-out cabin along with Bonnie and a few other ranch staff. Amos was still staring daggers into Javier, who merely returned the gaze with a cool, unthreatened demeanor, chin held high. John looked like he was about to start tearing his hair out, Charles was watching _him_ with concern, and Sadie was biting her bottom lip and scanning the hills like she was expecting another ambush. Albert was wholly focused elsewhere though.

“Did you see that?” The question wasn’t delivered at anyone in particular, but Arthur was the only one who seemed to acknowledge it.

“See what?”

“Over there. By the paddock. I thought I saw someone.”

Arthur followed his pointed finger over to the same stables he and Bill had hidden behind during the first Mercer Boy raid. Sure enough, there seemed to be a figure slinking around there, just behind the cover of the structure.

“Stay here.”

Slowly, Arthur approached, and after a moment of wrestling with the idea, decided to draw his Volcanic, just having it ready at his side, as he stepped closer to the short wooden wall.

Eyes peered out from a crack and locked onto him, prompting Arthur to snap his weapon up.

“I’m giving you one chance to get out here.”

 _“Jesus,_ Arthur! Put that away.”

Instantly the tension left Arthur’s body and he lazily re-holstered his gun, but relief was soon replaced with familiar irritation. “Uncle? What the hell’re you doin’ back there?”

“Trying not to get shot! And I didn’t make it this far just to catch a bullet from an old friend.”

“We ain’t friends…,” Arthur weakly reminded for the thousandth time. John brushed past him as he went over to the stable, and Bonnie and Amos were also starting to drift over.

“Uncle! Is Abigail with you? Where’s Jack?”

He shook his head and pointed south. “No, they left as soon as the shooting started.”

“Left?”

“Yeah, they went with two fellers on horseback, figured they were running away. Shoulda gone with ‘em…,” he trailed off.

“Bet you some of Bonnie’s hands took ‘em away when the trouble started,” Arthur offered as if it were a harmless act. Amos shook his head however.

“All our boys are accounted for, no one’s missing.”

“Uncle, who did they run off with?,” John asked.

“Dunno, I didn’t get a good look at ‘em.”

“Think the Mercer Boys nabbed ‘em?,” Amos suggested. He made a point to shoot yet another withering glare at Javier, who lingered back at the ruins with Albert, Charles and Sadie. John got in the next word before Amos could continue slandering their friend.

“Why? Why would they even know who they were?”

Amos shrugged. “Beats me. The only other folk that were here were those two travelers Bonnie put up in the house, but I thought they’d left already.”

“What ‘travelers?’” All eyes fell on Bonnie, but she didn’t so much as flinch under the new scrutiny.

“Had two men come through late last night asking for a place to stay. One of ‘em was coughing up a storm so I took pity on ‘em and put ‘em up in the guest room in the big house.”

“What’d they look like?,” Arthur asked. Bonnie pulled a face as she thought about it.

“Mean-looking sons a bitches. The one that was coughing had a moustache and his pal was bald, clean-shaven. They had cheap clothes that didn’t fit well, but beautiful horses, that didn’t make much sense to me, but they said they’d be on their way in the morning.”

There was a palpable tension among the ex-gang members.

John’s fists were clenched as tight as his voice was when he asked, “What were their names?”

“I didn’t catch the sick one’s name, but the bald one went by ‘Mister Matthews.’”

Using Hosea’s name was just adding insult to injury.

John huffed, almost sounding like he was amused.

“He took them,” he absently spoke in disbelief. “He took them _both.”_

“John-”

Smacking away the hand before it could console him, John suddenly shouted, “No! He took my family, Arthur! He took Jack _again,_ and now he has Abigail too?!”

“Maybe we should try-”

“No!,” he cut off his brother. “No more plans! No more games, no more tricks; I’m ending this, this ends _today!”_

John all but sprinted to Old Boy and spurred south despite Arthur’s shouts. Charles watched the outburst and looked back to Arthur, confused.

“Charles, follow after him!” Not needing to be told twice, Charles let out a piercing whistle to summon Taima and followed after John. Arthur was ever thankful for Charles’ willingness to keep his younger brother in check, but the scrutinizing eyes on the side of his face distracted him from that comforting thought.

“What’s all _that_ about?,” Amos asked.

“Those men, those travelers… there’s a lotta bad blood between us that I don’t want you or your boys gettin’ wrapped up in.” Arthur started walking back towards the others. Bonnie was needed elsewhere by one of her hands asking for help with something, but Amos kept pace with Arthur.

“We got enough on our hands with the Mercer Boys making daytime raids anyway...”

“This has been happening often?” The older man shook his head.

“No, this was the first time since you boys first showed up, but I’m sure they’ll be back again.”

Arthur slowed, and spoke to Amos softly such that his friends couldn’t hear him. “Look, I’m real thankful for everything you’ve done for me and Al and my brother. And I’m sorry all this,” gesturing around the ranch in general, “happened, but I’m gonna make it up to you. I’m gonna make it right.”

Amos scrunched his nose dismissively, clearly skeptical. “They show this much generosity in your old gang?”

“Not even remotely, but that was a long time ago. But people can change, no?”

Amos studied him, trying to figure Arthur’s angle when a different thought struck him. “That how you knew Ben Wilcox? Or was it ‘Bill?’”

“You’re too sharp for me, old man.” Arthur chuckled, hoping a small dose of flattery would get him out of this encounter faster. He looked back towards Albert however, and continued, “I do need to ask one last thing of you.”

“Only if you do something for me.”

Arthur looked to the older man at his left. “What’s that?” Amos pointed at Javier without a hint of subtlety.

“The Mercer Boy stays here.”

“He ain’t a Mercer-”

“I don’t give one good god damn what he claims to be, that sonovabitch let his boys beat me within an inch of my life and just watched! I know you pulled some scheme to get me out of that fort, and I’m thankful for that, but I don’t trust him running out there just yet. I wanna keep an eye on him.”

Convincing Javier to stay behind and not confront Milton would be a challenge, but Arthur thought he could pull it off once he tied it with his own request. “Alright, I’ll let him know.”

Content that that was as good of an answer as he was going to get, Amos prompted, “Fine. Then what is it that _you_ want?”

* * *

He hated the plan. Albert tended to hate most of Arthur’s plans, but this one was especially egregious.

Not only was he expected to stay behind at the ranch, but he was to stay back while all of his friends threw themselves into danger? Everyone except Javier, that is, but Albert still wasn’t sure where he stood with the man and whether or not the label of ‘friend’ was applicable yet. The man was plenty occupied having his own personal psychic battle with Amos at any rate, and Albert didn’t care to insert himself between whatever _that_ was about. This was all under the guise of helping Bonnie and her people defend against a potential second attack from the Mercer Boys, but Albert saw it for what it was: they didn’t think he could help.

They all didn’t think that the man who had so carefully planned out _four_ distinct and different staged deaths could help now, when they would need help the most. The man who had devised a scheme to undercut Milton that ultimately got the man removed from the Pinkerton agency altogether was suddenly of no use anymore.

So they went through the motions again: more apologies for doing what had to be done, more threats to come back safely in one piece, more promises to do so, more hugs and stolen kisses that could be their last. It was a fantastic little piece of theater Albert unfortunately had practice doing before, but he carried it out flawlessly for his audience of one. He knew with certainty that Arthur genuinely believed Albert would stay behind when he mounted up on Ivy and kicked off with Sadie.

It wasn’t his fault that the Mercer Boys had attacked the ranch and given all the hands better things to be doing than baby-sitting a grown man. It wasn’t his fault Albert just-so-happened to be nowhere nearby when the shouting match finally broke out between Javier and Amos. It wasn’t his fault Penny was so easy-going and quiet for a horse.

It wasn’t his fault no one noticed him leave.

* * *

“Hang on there, Arthur.”

Pulling back on Ivy’s reins, Arthur complied, but he still sent a confused look in Sadie’s direction to his left. “What’s wrong?”

“I think we should head this way.” With her head, she motioned to the left, in advance of the fork in the dirt road coming up ahead.

“Why? Tracks look like they go right.”

“I know, but nothing’s out that way.” She was already directing Hera to the left side of the path, but Arthur found himself hesitating.

“You sound awfully sure of yourself.”

Sadie rolled her eyes, “I’m a _bounty hunter,_ honey. No other state has as many bounties as New Austin, I’m down here all the time!”

It made sense to Arthur, but he still pointed out, “But what if John and Charles went that way?”

Unbothered, Sadie replied, “Then they’re not gonna find anything ‘cept for a tiny old shack by the water. I don’t wanna waste time like they are. John’s not thinking clear right now anyway.” That much Arthur could agree to.

“Then where’re you leadin’ us to?”

“There’s an old run-down homestead this way, locals call it ‘the Old Bacchus Place.’ Caught a bounty that was hiding out there a few months back. There’s nothing else out here ‘cept for dust and grass. I bet you a hundred bucks Milton went there with Jack and Abigail.”

Arthur felt he should consult Albert as to just how many stacks of cash were left hiding in the beams about the kitchen before he took on that bet.

Instead, he watched the more-worn path pass by to his right, wishing his brother would realize his mistake before Milton could carry out whatever he was planning.

“Lead the way.”

* * *

Years ago, when Arthur had been mauled by that massive brown bear in the woods, Albert had used a compass to find their way back to Strawberry. He wished he had that compass now, but instead it was a whole state away, and he knew exactly which drawer back at the house it was tucked away in. Still, even with his meagre survival skills, it wasn’t hard to deduce which direction was south, or a close enough approximation of it. When the trail Penny had been briskly following as quickly as she would tolerate opened up to reveal a stunning view of the San Luis River and Mexico on the other side of it, Albert knew he was heading the right way.

Any latent doubts were further dispelled by the conspicuous sight he could make out from this elevated vantage point. Downhill, some three hundred feet away at the water’s edge was a small wooden hut and a detached outhouse with two horses hitched outside. There were no other signs of man’s influence on this sun-baked stretch of nature.

_Maybe they already got here? I don’t hear any fighting, so maybe it’s already over._

The immediate flash of regret at having missed Milton’s death did not surprise him. But the possibility that followed that thought did.

_What if they were too late? What if Milton took a boat across into Mexico?_

One thing was certain: he would get no answers waiting at the top of the slope, exposed and out in the open save for some sparse ground vegetation. With a rewarding few pats on the neck, Albert thanked his mare and dismounted a safe distance away. There was a winding trail that snaked its way down a natural decline to the structure, but he opted to take the direct route, straight through the bushes and over the occasional small boulder. He took care to avoid the occasional pitfall that would result in a twisted ankle - _that’s_ just _what I need right now…_ \- and even kept an eye out for any rattlesnakes that would be incredibly unfortunate to step upon. But despite being in this heightened state of alertness, he was unprepared for the speed with which he was swept up from behind.

He turned his head to where he heard the footsteps originate behind a particularly large rock, but their owner was already elsewhere. Abruptly, a hand grabbed onto Albert’s shoulder and spun him around. The man brought up his free hand that was wielding a knife, ready to slit Albert’s throat when they both froze with recognition.

“Albert?”

The photographer gasped.

“Hello, Charles.”

Instantly the knife was re-sheathed and Charles forced Albert down into a squat and behind what passed for cover on this chaparral hillside.

“What are you doing here? I thought you’d be back at the house?”

Rubbing at his nearly-cut throat, Albert responded, “I’m not going to let Arthur run off into danger again, I can help.” The momentary crease in Charles’ brow informed Albert exactly what _he_ thought about that, but they didn’t dwell on the matter.

“Is Arthur not with you? It’s just me and John here.”

As if summoned by his name, an agitated John shuffled over from behind Charles. “Charles, what’s taking you so- … _Al?_ What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m here to help,” he replied in a hushed tone.

Again, there was that brief flash of doubt that John and Charles exchanged with each other before John simply shrugged. “You know what? I’ll take all the help I can get. Just be careful; Arthur’ll _kill_ us if anything happens to you.”

“I won’t get in the way, I promise.”

John nodded in acceptance, and that was good enough for him. Charles held his tongue, but Albert knew him well enough at this point to know that that meant a disagreement that wasn’t worth raising a fuss over. Silently, the three of them turned back towards the lone building at the water’s edge.

“Either of you know anything about this place?,” John asked quietly.

“Don’t think I’ve ever even been this far south,” Charles admitted. Albert didn’t know anything about it either, but he gave it his best shot to gleam what he could from what was visible.

“It’s too small to be a permanent home, and too isolated as well. Maybe it’s some kind of landmark to illegally cross the river?,” he offered. Charles hummed in agreement.

“A smuggler’s post. Explains the dock in the front.”

Albert voiced his concern from earlier. “Do you think they already crossed?” Charles raised a hand to shield the sun from his eyes and squinted.

“I can’t see a boat from this side.”

“We’re wasting too much time. Come on!” John abruptly began shuffling downhill, less concerned with maintaining cover than before. The hushed calls after him to stop and come back fell on deaf ears and the others were forced to follow.

“I’m going to go around to the right side to cover John from out of sight,” Charles whispered as he started to break off from John’s trail of freshly-trampled grasses and shrubs.

“Then I’ll go to the left,” Albert responded before Charles could give any instructions to the contrary.

Somehow Charles managed to vanish completely once he entered Albert’s peripheral vision, but he was more focused on the scene playing out before him anyway.

John discarded all pretense of the element of surprise as he rose to his full height and exited from the underbrush, revolver drawn and shouting at the small one-room building.

“Milton! Come out here right now, you son of a bitch!”

As he continued slinging insults at the impassive building, Albert took up a position some twenty feet away, low behind some bushes and on the other side of a short wooden fence that separated him from John. He drew and readied his own weapon, unsure of whether or not he’d actually have to use it, but it seemed prudent to at least have it ready should things go south. Presumably Charles was on the other side of the hut by now, to John’s right.

“I know you’re in there!”

One of the horses that had been lazily trying to find sustenance in the sand raised its head to regard John with an air of passive curiosity. There were no other signs of activity however.

_Nothing’s happening. Surely they would’ve shouted something back by now? Maybe they already crossed-_

The door to the outhouse flew open with a startling slam. The man who exited wasn’t one that Albert recognized, but he was more focused on the weapon this newcomer immediately trained on John’s flank.

_BANG_

_BANG_

Barely a second after appearing, the man’s head jerked back as violently as the door was thrown open. The gun held at his hip, ready to be fan-fired, had only loosed one stray bullet before falling from his grip. He collapsed backwards to the ground a moment later and did not move again.

John hadn’t even spared his victim a passing glance. With eyes still boring holes into the building in front of him, somehow with even more ire, he swung his outstretched arm to point at it, pulling back the hammer a second time.

“GIVE ME BACK MY FAMILY!”

Albert shuddered despite himself.

This decidedly was _not_ the John that Albert knew. This wasn’t the John that sheepishly asked for help building his new home nor the John who would rib and poke fun at Arthur like he was taunting a bull with a red drape. No, this was the John on the train who was ready and willing to kill a stubborn photographer to tie up a “loose end.” This was the John who felled Agent Burns with impossible speed. And as frightened as he was of his friend in this current state, this was exactly the version of John that Albert wanted here, _knew_ was needed here.

At the front of the small house, the front door opened gently, and was followed by slow, deliberate footsteps. Albert trained his eyes to the left to catch the source, taking care to stay low. He was just barely able to make out Jack, pushed out from around the corner and into John’s line of sight, but held back with a firm hand on the shoulder. The gun pointed at the boy’s head from his obscured captor further ensured he wouldn’t run off.

“Pa!,” Jack gasped, understandably distraught. John’s temper extinguished for just a few moments.

“Jack! Are you okay?”

“I-“ He didn’t seem capable of forming a coherent thought in the moment; Albert couldn’t blame him.

“It’s gonna be okay Jack, I promise.”

“That depends, Mister Marston. On whether or not you comply.”

Albert didn’t recognize the voice of the man holding Jack hostage, and he also couldn’t see the face it belonged to. It definitely wasn’t Milton but John found his rage again all the same.

“I don’t have to _comply_ with anything any more, Ross. The deal is off!”

“No, I think the deal is very much still on, as long as we have your family.” Ross spoke with an air of superiority, and he clearly had the upper hand in the situation, but his smug chuckle devolved into a harsh fit of coughs he seemed to stifle through sheer stubbornness alone.

“I’m here to take them back!,” John shouted, weapon still raised but without any apparent target.

“If you try anything funny, the boy here will catch a bullet in the head. That what you want?”

Albert shifted uncomfortably in his squatting position. He couldn’t make out any sign of Charles at all from this side, and just assumed the other hidden man was also waiting to see how things would play out.

“You wouldn’t shoot him.”

“And why not? We still have your wife.”

John wet his dry lips and uneasily adjusted his grip on the gun.

“Abigail?! I’m gonna get you out of this!”

“Save it, she’s not here. Milton isn’t neither,” Ross shouted back. Judging by the silence from within the shack, save for a few more coughs from Ross, he seemed to be telling the truth. Ultimately Jack would be able to tell them what happened, but he wasn’t in a position to speak freely.

_Then why are there two horses?_

Albert realized the answer instantly: the other man who came out of the outhouse. Clearly he was involved in this scheme, but how? Was he a Mercer Boy somehow roped into working with ex-Pinkertons? Or was he one of the original volunteers, still working for Milton?

Had the plan to fool Milton’s men been a waste of time?

“Where is she?!”

Ross didn’t match John’s energy, instead easing back into that smug, victorious attitude that his hostage afforded him. “Tell you what, you throw all your weapons into the river where I can see them, and I mean _all_ of them, and we’ll talk.”

_Surely he wouldn’t fall for-_

“Jack, just stay calm, okay? I’m not gonna let him hurt yo-“

“Throw your guns, Marston!,” Ross barked. Jack flinched at the outburst and seemed to be on the verge of sobbing, but managed the gargantuan task of holding himself together, brave boy that he was.

John didn’t carry around multiple firearms every day like Arthur did; none of the others did save for Sadie. So after a pause of mentally deliberating over what to do in the situation, John yielded and adjusted his grip on his revolver such that it was easier to throw and chucked it a distance away into a shallow part of the river.

Ross was still pressing a gun to the side of Jack’s head when he peered around the corner cautiously. He hadn’t noticed Albert, and Charles likewise hadn’t let his present be known yet.

“And your knife, too!”

Begrudgingly, John unsheathed his knife, looked as if he debated hurling it at his son's captor, then ultimately tossed it in the same direction as his gun. The knife splashed into the water and immediately sunk out of sight.

Ross sneered and taunted, “Is that it? You came here alone with just that and thought you’d win?”

_He’s not alone._

“Hard to do much thinking when your family’s been kidnapped,” John shot back testily. With both hands raised in the air to show he was unarmed, he took a few delicate steps closer to gauge the ex-Agent’s attitude.

“This is all to ensure your cooperation. We all want the same thing in the end after all.”

There was no plan. Frankly Albert hadn’t expected there to be much of one, but now John was unarmed and exposed. He _had_ to be banking on his friends springing to his rescue. But this ad-libbed approach seemed needlessly dangerous; Albert acted best when there was a plan to stick to.

“And what is that?”

John was merely ten feet away from the man who was now emerging fully from around the corner. Charles wouldn’t have a clean line of sight from his side, but Albert did. 

“To go back to normal. _After_ justice is properly meted out. Once the Van der Linde gang is finally dealt with, you’ll be exonerated and redeemed.”

_I have to do something._

“I’d be the last one left. How do I know you won’t just turn on me then?”

Albert began to rise, slowly, from his crouched position, not really knowing why.

“You truly think we’d stab you in the back like that? You misunderstand us, Mister Marston.”

Jack turned his head and noticed Albert. His eyes widened, but he stayed silent.

“I don’t know that I understand you at all.”

Albert grabbed the Volcanic with both hands in anticipation of the kick. He closed one eye and honed in on Ross’ head, trying to ignore how fast his heart was beating.

Ross grinned.

“No, I prefer it when they see it coming.”

Finally, the tip of Ross’ gun left the side of Jack’s head, only to be raised and pointed comfortably at John, barely out of arm’s reach.

Albert fired.

The Volcanic had more kick to it than he remembered, and had he not steadied himself with both hands and the proper form Arthur taught him, he easily would have smacked himself in the face with the recoil.

An explosion of splinters showered the docks as the corner column of the building was all but destroyed barely a few inches above Ross’ head. But the man was still standing and he recovered from his own shock before Albert could. He quickly found his ambusher standing in the tall grass and re-aimed his pistol.

Albert lowered his own aim and... froze.

The shot went wild as John lunged forward, grabbing Ross’ wrist and starting to wrestle for control of the firearm. Jack screamed and ran towards the outhouse. Before Albert could come to his senses and call out to the boy or even find his voice at all, a second shot rang out, followed immediately by John’s cry of pain.

 _Do something._ DO _something!_

Albert blinked rapidly and pulled the hammer back on his Volcanic. Taking practiced form again, he lined up another shot, less confident of hitting his mark at this distance if the first one missed, but knowing that his friend’s life was in danger if he did nothing at all.

John slumped to the ground, curled into himself and holding onto his stomach as he slid down the side of the building. Ross freed his weapon from John’s grip and raised a blood-covered gun at Albert, scowling as if he was nothing more than an inconvenience that would soon be dealt with.

He tried, _god_ how he was he trying to focus. Trying to steady his nerves and slow his breathing and ignore his aching shoulder that the first shot had reawakened. He tried lining up the shot in spite of his quaking hands, to put a bullet in Ross before he received one in kind, recognizing this as one of those “me or him,” situations he once prompted Arthur to describe.

He tried to defend himself, his friend, and his nephew by taking the life that threatened his own.

He failed.

Charles saved him the trouble.

From the front of the building that faced the river, the side that was still partially obscured from where Albert was all but rooted in place, the shape of a man - more of a blur really - swept up behind Ross. The former Pinkerton never had a chance to react before a knife, the same knife that had pressed against Albert’s neck not ten minutes ago, was plunged into his back.

Ross collapsed to one knee with a shout, a final shot slamming into the floorboards in front of him, before he tried in vain reaching behind him to remove the knife. Charles shoved him prone with a foot, and Ross began sputtering and coughing pathetically. When he reached forward for the gun that had clattered away from him, his fingers were crushed by the full weight of Charles’ boot looming over him.

“The deal’s off,” Charles coolly informed Ross. For his part, the man seemed unable to even cry out in pain, let alone form a verbal response through his coughs.

Only then did Albert realize he was still frozen in place, now pointing a gun at Charles.

His friend looked up and creased his brows only slightly at being at the wrong end of a gun, unfortunately something he was likely used to by now. He slowly raised his hands forward in a calming gesture and slightly bowed his head.

“Albert. Can you put that down and give me a hand?”

He didn’t know if the heat on his face was from the midday sun or from his cheeks flushing from shame, but Albert nodded and holstered the Volcanic. Initially with care, then with more vigor, he approached the dock and hopped over the low fence. He allowed himself to look at Ross for only a few seconds, and was grateful that the man was unable to return the gaze. He didn’t profess to know much about lethal wounds, but Albert was pretty sure that a single knife stab to the back shouldn’t cause a man to cough quite _that_ much blood onto the floor so quickly.

John was unfortunately a more straightforward matter. Clearly he’d been shot in the abdomen at point-blank range. Sweating and breathing quickly, he somehow propped himself up to be seated on the floor, back to the building and nursing his left side in particular. Even through all this, he managed a victorious grin when he saw Albert.

“Thanks, Al.” Albert genuinely couldn’t tell if he was being facetious or not.

“John, I am so sorry, I should’ve… I didn’t…”

_Should’ve blown Ross’ head off? Didn’t know if that’s what you wanted me to do?_

“It’s alright, these things happen.” Albert’s mouth dropped at the impossibly blasé attitude John was taking. He turned to see if Charles had anything to say, but he was content to watch Ross struggle for air as blood was apparently all that was left in the man’s lungs. John continued, “Where’s Jack?”

“I… I saw him run that way.”

“Find him,” John said. “Please? Make sure he’s alright?”

With a nod and a final quick look at Ross, Albert turned and jogged over to the outhouse, having to step over the decidedly dead stranger with no small amount of discomfort.

Rather than just opening it directly, he knocked on the door and asked, “Jack, are you in there?” When there was no immediate reply, he continued, “It’s Uncle Albert. It’s okay now.”

“I’m here,” came the muffled response.

“Can I open the door?” He took the silence for acceptance and cracked it open just slightly to visually confirm that Jack, standing in the cramped space, was unharmed.

“Is that man still out there?”

“Ross? No, he’s… Uncle Charles handled him.”

Jack’s face contorted again as he struggled with his next question. “Is my dad gonna be okay?”

“I…” He whipped his head around as Charles let out an ear-splitting two note whistle, followed soon after by Taima approaching from some spot uphill. He was squatting low over John, inspecting him. “Yes, I think so.”

“He got shot,” Jack pointed out dejectedly.

“People get shot all the time,” Albert dismissed half-seriously. “Even _I_ got shot, and I’m fine.”

The joke didn’t land and Jack’s eyes widened with concern. “You got shot too?” Albert immediately backtracked.

“Oh, no, not just now, this was a few weeks back,” he explained.

He watched as Taima skidded to a stop just past him, closer to the house, and Charles ran up to begin rummaging through her saddles. Albert certainly didn’t have experience dressing wounds, and as much as John’s injury was largely his fault, he felt a sudden urge to leave. The whole reason he slipped away from the relative safety of Bonnie’s ranch was to find and protect Arthur, or at least that’s what he was still trying to convince himself. But he couldn’t do that here; Arthur had tried finding Jack and Abigail, who apparently had been split up…

Turning back to the boy, “Jack, what happened earlier today? Do you remember?”

“We… we were in the guest house and heard guns outside. Mom pulled me inside and those men from Blackwater came in. They took me again…” Jack wiped away at his eyes; he’d certainly been through one hell of a day already, but Albert needed more than that.

“I know, and I’m so sorry we weren’t there to stop that. But what happened after that?”

“They put us on horses, said they’d hurt us if we didn’t go with them. But then we split up.”

“Split up how?,” Albert prompted.

“There was a fork in the road. We went to the right and the bald man took my mom to the left.”

Albert played around with the mental map of New Austin in his head. Best he could tell, that meant they’d separated a ways back, likely at the same fork in the road he’d absent-mindedly stayed right at because it looked more traveled. Abigail, and presumably Arthur, would be north of here.

Milton would be north of here.

“Okay,” he said, more to steady himself for what he was thinking of doing.

He leaned back from the narrow door opening. Penny was too slow for the trip he needed to make _now._ But the two horses that Ross and this volunteer had brought were still here, and they looked eager to leave, rattled as they were by the gunshots.

“Okay,” he repeated.

Behind him, Charles was doing something crouched over a stubborn John who was cursing under his breath.

“Okay.”

He looked back at a slightly confused boy hiding in an outhouse right next to a fresh corpse out in the wilderness. Not the exactly the best place one could abandon a child, but it couldn’t be helped.

“Jack, I’m sorry, but I have to leave and find Uncle Arthur. Just stay in here, and you’ll be safe, do you understand?”

“You’re leaving?,” Jack asked nervously.

“Yes, but Uncle Charles is going to take care of you, I promise.” Before Jack could get out his next question, Albert gently closed the door.

It wasn’t with pride that he callously stepped over the body John had felled. It certainly wasn’t with dignity that he crept over to the closest horse, deliberately not making any sounds and ignoring John’s stifled gasps of pain. And there was no honor in literally abandoning his friends to deal with the aftermath of what he had caused, but by the time Charles noticed and called after him Albert was far enough away that he honestly couldn’t make out the words.

* * *

At the seat of a deceptively steep decline sat a one-story house, maybe large enough for two rooms, with a tall stone chimney. Adjacent to it was a clothesline that some weather-worn and neglected pieces of clothing tiredly hung to, and beyond that was a small dock at the water’s edge, before the river dropped off into Manteca Falls.

It was a quaint homestead and would almost seem inviting, were it not for the implicit threat the lone horse hitched out front suggested.

“You sure no one lives here?,” Arthur asked quietly. To his left, Sadie hummed in the affirmative.

“Granted, it was a few months back that I busted the bounty that was hiding out here, but he sure as shit didn’t own the place and he was hanged a few days after I turned him in anyways.”

He didn’t want to ask what the bounty had done to deserve that treatment, but the answer was good enough to placate Arthur’s curiosity. Property law and land purchasing wasn’t something he knew much about, but it seemed plausible that the place had been dormant since Sadie had last been here. This close to Thieves’ Landing, if the Del Lobos hadn’t taken it for themselves by now, then probably no one would. There was only one group of people he could think of that would come out this way today.

“Why’s there only one horse though?”

“Been thinking that myself,” Sadie murmured. “Maybe they dropped Jack and Abigail off here then went back to the ranch?”

“What for?”

“I dunno, to give their terms to John? Don’t matter much now, way I see it. Here.”

Sadie rose from her crouched position next to Arthur and went back to Hera to grab what looked like a long-arm rifle. Arthur met her halfway, and took it as she forced it into his hands.

“Just in case he’s got people hiding down there and the lone horse is just a trick, I think you should cover me and I’ll go in there and get them.” Arthur’s immediate scowl at the idea had her clarifying, “‘Cause you’re the better shot, I mean.”

Shaking his head, he replied, “No.”

“Come on, Arthur… Just do it my way, honey. It’s for the best.” Again she forced the rifle into his chest. He looked down at it and considered for a moment before twisting his face into further confusion.

_“No.”_

“Why not?,” she whined.

“Sadie, I can’t even see the front door from this side. When you go in, you’ll be alone, and if it goes bad I’m gonna have to come down anyway,” he pointed out.

“What’s _your_ bright idea then?”

Gently, he handed the rifle back over to her before motioning with his head to return to their earlier scouting spot. When they had a view of the entire property again, he quietly observed the scene before explaining.

Pointing to the proper entrance to their right, “I’m gonna go down there and take cover. I’ll call out Milton and whoever else is in there, try to get them talkin’ for as long as I can.” Then, pointing to the left, “You sneak down that side and get in there, _quiet,_ and get Abigail and Jack out. They’ll have their backs to you, but I’ll be able to see you.”

She seemed to be buying it. Eagerly she followed up with, “Alright, then what? We scurry back up this hill and then I shoot ‘em from behind?”

“No one needs to get shot at all if we play this right, you just get the Marstons to safety and I’ll high-tail it outta there when the time comes.” Sadie turned her torso to face him completely and reeled her head back in disappointment.

“You’re just gonna _run?”_

He ignored the stab at his ego and continued, “I’ll make sure to lose ‘em before I come back to the ranch. Then we’ll figure out where to go from there.”

“Arthur, we can end this _now._ There won’t be a need to figure out ‘what’s next’ if we _play this right.”_

She wasn’t wrong, they both knew it, but what Sadie didn’t know is that Arthur was still secretly hoping for a non-violent outcome from this scenario. He felt he had to at least try to find one before taking yet more lives, opposed to his own as they were.

“I know, but I don’t wanna risk a firefight right in front of Abigail and Jack if I can help it. Do you?”

She glared at him before casting her eyes back down to the house below them. Finally she conceded, “Alright, you made your point. Guess I’ll wait up here then.”

“A scoped rifle ain’t gonna do you much good indoors. Here, take this.” Arthur unslung his double-barreled shotgun, rubbing a thumb over the spot Albert had shot once as he handed it over. “You know how to use that?”

“Generally I like to deliver my bounties in one piece, but yes, I know how to use a damn shotgun, Arthur.” Her snappiness was only half-serious, and Arthur recognized it as such.

“Thank you,” he whispered half-sarcastically, half-genuinely as he went back to grab Ivy.

“Be careful, Arthur,” she said back before he mounted up for the short ride around the hill.

Approaching the homestead from the road, the proper way it was meant to be traveled, gave it an even cozier impression. It had clearly been abandoned for some time, what with all the weeds trying to reclaim the dirt road and state of the clothing strung up on the line to dry, but it had clearly been a _home_ at some point. In a tangential way it reminded Arthur of his own home in Tall Trees. He wondered if anyone would happen upon that place when it was in a state like this, long after he and Albert no longer lived there. Would those people feel the same way he felt now?

It was better to not entertain these kinds of thoughts. Not now at least.

Making sure one last time that Ivy was a safe distance behind him - and at the same level so he wouldn’t have to sprint uphill if it came to that - Arthur took up a spot hiding behind the biggest, closest tree to the house. He peered out from behind cover and could just barely make out Sadie watching him from above the hill crest, but only because he knew to look there. He was about to call out when the front door to the house opened abruptly.

Even from this distance, even without ever actually meeting the man face-to-face, he could recognize Milton. With transparent irritation, the man stomped loudly over to the docks and turned away from Arthur, looking upstream, expectantly. The current was moderately strong at this point, Manteca Falls only being a few thousand feet downstream and the far Mexican side of the river being a sheer cliff face, but it wouldn’t be impossible to travel against the flow in a rowboat.

_He’s waitin’ on someone. Better do this quick._

“Milton!”

At hearing his own name, the man instantly spun around, gun drawn and searching for the threat. The only cover readily available to him were some old barrels on the dock that he promptly slid behind.

“Who’s out there?”

“Arthur Morgan,” he shouted back, maintaining his own cover. Milton sounded amused in his reply.

“Is that so? Word in the Saint Denis Times is that he died in a rockslide a few days back.”

Sadie began cautiously creeping down the slope, out of Milton’s line-of-sight. No one else seemed to be exiting from the house yet. It almost seemed possible that he was actually here alone.

“You believe everything you read?”

“I believe I can tell a ruse when I see one. You may have fooled a lot of my men, but you didn’t fool _me.”_

_Sounds like Al’s plan actually worked._

“What gave it away?,” Arthur asked, knowing it was important to keep Milton talking. He dared another peek from behind his tree, but now he wasn’t so sure Milton was still behind the barrel on the dock.

“The first one, Mister Williamson and Mister Escuella having a shootout in the swamps? I could have believed that. But all the others, happening so quickly after one another? And the fact that there just happened to be an ‘anonymous’ photographer at each scene? The whole thing reeks of Mason’s desperation to outsmart me.”

Sadie pushed on the front door of the house and slipped inside silently.

“Sounds to me like it worked if you’re out here by yourself. I only see one horse here.”

There was a pause before Milton’s voice returned. “All but one of my volunteers returned home, it’s true. But I’m still capable of maintaining my leverage.”

“Is that what we’re callin’ kidnapping these days?”

“I’m not about to be lectured on extra-judicial actions by an _outlaw_ like you,” he snapped back instantly.

“What, you don’t think I can’t ramble on with the best of them? I’m friends with _Mason_ for crissake!”

“I didn’t take you to be such a chatterbox, no. Come to think of it, I believe this is the first time we’ve ever properly met. Why don’t you step out and let me see how accurately the wanted posters got you?”

“You’re not missin’ out on anything with this ugly mug,” Arthur deflected. From the sound of his voice, it sounded like Milton had crept up closer following the small fence that ran along the main entrance to the house, but Arthur couldn’t be certain what with all the overgrown weeds.

“Then why _are_ you here? Somehow I doubt you received my letter I left in Valentine.”

“Oh, I got that letter alright. Lester says, ‘Hello.’,” Arthur taunted.

“Then what is it? What do you want?”

“I want you to leave the Marstons alone. Leave us all alone!” Milton actually had the nerve to laugh aloud at that.

“You are going to have to give a _masterclass_ in persuasion if you expect me to do that through words alone, Mister Morgan.”

“Well you got no authority to be houndin’ folk who’re just livin’ their own lives. You’re not a Pinkerton no more.”

Again, there was a noticeable pause - likely because the accusation shocked him - before Milton’s voice responded from much closer than Arthur expected it to.

“Word travels fast, it seems.”

“You’re not the only one who can snoop around other people’s business,” Arthur shot back. He eyed a particularly dense section of tall grass by the river bank that he was confident Milton was crouched behind.

“So what if I’m not? I’m still righting a wrong, doing what the law and the rest of those agents are too afraid to do, too unwilling to pursue because there’s no paycheck waiting at the end.”

“How noble of you,” Arthur groused.

“I’m surprised you even know what that word means.”

“Didn’t used to. But people can change.”

“I find it hard to believe a man like you could ever turn their life around. But I do know one thing.”

Again, Arthur chanced a peek around the tree over his right shoulder. Somehow he’d missed them exiting the house, but Sadie and Abigail were already halfway back up the slope to where Hera was.

No sign of Jack however.

_Gotta wrap this up._

“And what is that, Mister Milton?”

_Click_

Arthur’s blood chilled at the sound that came from just behind his head.

“I thought this part was going to be more difficult.”

Slowly, Arthur turned his head all the way to the left to meet the gun pointed directly at his face and the sneering Milton behind it.

“Well done,” Arthur genuinely complimented. He didn’t think someone like Milton was capable of moving around that silently, let alone while holding a conversation, and he was paying for that underestimation now. Flattery seemed like his best bet out of this, and for a moment it seemed to work.

“I may not be a card-carrying Pinkerton agent anymore, but I can still kill an outlaw.”

“Didn’t kill Dutch though,” he pointed out. The corners of Milton’s mouth sagged down momentarily before snapping back up even higher.

“Not for lack of trying. I did kill Mister Matthews however, and I’m still proud of that one.”

Arthur’s temper flared despite knowing it would serve him no favors here. “You son of a bitch…”

“Oh that’s right, you were close, weren’t you? The reports said he and Dutch took you in when you were just a boy. You truly never stood a chance at being a decent person, did you?” Now Milton was truly just gloating for his own enjoyment.

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.”

“Spare me. The only thing I want you to tell me is where the others are. John, Charles,” Milton paused, narrowed his eyes and rose his chin threateningly. “And Albert Mason. I think he’s finally earned a spot on this list.”

“I ain’t tellin’ you _shit,”_ Arthur snarled. Milton feigned disappointment.

“Loyalty to that gang was always your biggest flaw. You should’ve had the good sense to take my deal like Micah did.”

Arthur’s next words died at the back of his throat as the sound of horse hooves sounded in the distance. He couldn’t make out exactly what direction it was coming from, but he was just relieved that Sadie and Abigail were getting out of there.

Judging by the momentary glance away from Arthur, Milton had also heard it and was just as confused. But that was all Arthur needed.

He ducked and batted the hand away. Obviously the shot missed and went past his head, but the result of a gun being fired at point-blank range right next to his left ear had a deafening effect instantly. Fighting past that, he tried wrestling the gun out from Milton’s grip.

The gun was pointed straight up into the branches of the tree above them as the two men pressed flush against each other, each vying for control of it. He still had his Volcanic at his side, but Arthur didn’t trust himself to risk letting a hand loose to grab for it. One more shot was fired blindly into the sky when Milton tried shifting his hand a certain way. Arthur was beginning to get the upper hand in this contest of strength when a swift knee to the groin and the disproportionate pain that followed it all but knocked the wind out of him. A chop to the throat prevented him from re-filling his lungs with air, and the shove that followed immediately after found himself flat on his back.

In desperation, he let his right hand fly down to his Volcanic, but Milton stepped onto his wrist with his full weight. Something resembling a gasp was all that was able to escape Arthur, still dazed at the sudden reversal.

“You really thought you could pull that off?,” Milton taunted. He was trying to strike an unbothered tone, but his irritation was plainly there.

Arthur coughed. He scowled up at the man standing over him and trusted that would be enough to convey his thoughts.

“Sneaky and violent to the end. Too bad you turned down every opportunity to better yourself.”

The accusation was ironic coming from a man who just employed a literal low blow, but it was also false. Five years ago there could have been an argument to be made that Arthur was just the same as he’d always been, but that couldn’t be further from the truth now. Five years of peace, of no longer murdering or robbing people at gunpoint, five years of helping to make the world a better place through Albert’s conservation efforts, five years of making memories and spreading love with those that were closest to him: _these_ were the actions of a ‘sneaky and violent’ man?

He didn’t believe that.

He cleared his throat and spoke aloud with a hoarse voice. “That’s not true. I’m a good man.”

For the first time those words were leaving his mouth, Arthur finally believed them.

Milton dismissed it out of hand, of course. _“You?_ Don’t make me laugh. Who on earth gave you _that_ idea?”

“I did.”

Arthur’s throat hitched again, but not from physical pain this time. He didn’t allow himself to search for the voice’s owner until Milton had torn his eyes up and away from the ground.

 _“Mason,”_ Milton spat.

Arthur craned his neck back to look ‘up’ at Albert upside-down, standing some fifteen feet away with a posture that seemed to be bracing for action. When their eyes met, there was a determination there that Arthur didn’t recognize.

 _Trust me,_ Albert thought.

Returning his gaze to Milton, he demanded, “Let him go.”

“Absolutely not. Do you know what this man is responsible for? The world will be an objectively better place once he’s removed from it.” Albert’s face flinched involuntarily at the word ‘removed,’ as if Arthur was no more than a stain and Milton’s gun a scrub brush.

“I’m well aware of what he’s done. Both before and after the gang dissolved. The man you still think he is doesn’t exist anymore; he’s changed.”

“Am I supposed to believe six dead men outside Van Horn weren’t the work of a ‘changed man?’”

“I didn’t-,” Arthur started, but was silenced with a merciless kick to the flank. Milton’s other foot was still pinning his wrist in place.

“Don’t hurt him!,” Albert shouted.

“Or what?,” Milton challenged. “I recognize that gun at your side, but I also know you’re too cowardly to use it. Couldn’t even be bothered to spare Henry the misery you put him through in that room, could you?” In all the iterations of how this encounter would go down, Albert always knew the barber would come up in some capacity. He was prepared for this.

“Henry should have never had that room built in the first place. It’s not my fault he didn’t have a failsafe in case he got locked in.” Milton shook his head in mock disappointment.

“So easily you justify his death. His _murder_ at _your_ hands. I didn’t take you for the type at first, but now seeing the company you keep…” Milton sneered down at Arthur on the ground with clear contempt.

“Seems we both underestimated each other. I won’t be making that mistake a second time. Will you?”

Milton narrowed his eyes at Albert, more out of amusement than fear.

“Are you threatening me?”

“This is your last chance. Let him go and walk away.”

Arthur lay useless on the ground, arm still pinned under Milton’s boot; his hand was beginning to go numb with pins and needles. The ex-Pinkerton studied him with disgust before contorting his face with anger and giving his answer.

“I think I’ve heard enough out of you.”

Milton began to raise his aim away from Arthur’s face and towards the photographer.

Albert exhaled.

That familiar filter of amber washed over the world, coloring everything he could see, not unlike the sepia-toning process he applied to his own photographs. He always found it fitting, if not a touch ironic, that he could perceive reality itself almost as how it would appear as a finished product. He could perceive many things when he forced himself into this state of heightened awareness in those moments just before lining up the perfect shot.

It was nothing he hadn’t done hundreds of times before.

What _was_ different was the context.

Somehow Albert found himself in a “me or him” situation for the second time that day, but he had no lingering doubts this time. This man before him was not Ross and this was a moment he’d been anticipating for some time.

To him, Milton moved as if he was trapped in slow molasses, and was barely aiming at the ground at Albert’s feet by the time Albert had drawn and hip fired his retort.

Albert inhaled.

For not properly bracing for the shot, his wrist hurt almost as much as the sudden headache that resulted, much stronger than it usually flared for some reason. But he blinked through it and was rewarded with the sight and sounds of Milton nursing a bloodied hand and seething over it. Milton’s gun was lying useless some feet away. Albert earned incredulous looks from both Milton and Arthur.

“How did you…” Milton was too consumed with pain and rage to finish the thought, but Albert had the perfect response ready.

“You’re not as good at this game as you think you are.”

“And you are?!,” Milton snapped, robbing the moment of its sense of victory. “You think a fancy quick-shooting trick is enough to scare me off?! I didn’t come this far to be scared by a goddamn _photographer!”_

“Don’t shoot him, Al.”

Albert drew his brows together in confusion, no longer feeling all that victorious, but he did not take his eyes off of Milton. “Arthur?”

“Don’t kill him,” the outlaw begged from the ground. “You’re better than him.” Milton took the brief respite to check his hand - a finger or two were missing by Albert’s estimation - before flashing a sick grin.

“What’s it gonna be, Mason? You have a taste for blood now or what? Want to add me to your list next to Henry?” Not waiting for an answer, Milton pressed his free heel on Arthur’s face and scraped spurs across his cheek, relishing in Arthur’s cry that resulted. “Are you going to stop me from hurting your ‘good man’ here?”

Albert became enraged watching this, and pulled the hammer back on his Volcanic, but Arthur cried out again.

“Don’t kill him, Al!”

“Arthur?,” Albert asked again, more unsteadily, unsure of what to do. Milton on the other hand seemed to know exactly what his next move was.

“If you’re just going to cower there like that, I’m going to finish what I set out to do!” Milton dropped to a knee and began wailing on Arthur, who could only throw up one arm to block himself.

Albert struck a wide stance again, gripping the Volcanic with both hands. Hands that became increasingly unreliable with each one of Arthur’s pleas. He’d wanted to confront Milton, he’d wanted to make the man feel embarrassed and defeated in return for how he’d made Albert feel. But this was no longer going anything at all like how he’d imagined it would be.

Milton, no longer content with using a fist and a mangled hand, grabbed Arthur’s knife from its sheath and aimed it downward. Using what had to be the very last bit of his strength, Arthur resisted with his one free arm. But it was a losing battle, as Milton leaned into the handle that was slowly descending towards Arthur’s throat.

_“Al…”_

_BANG_

The knife sunk into the ground barely half an inch away from Arthur’s left ear. Milton’s torso loomed over him, bracing himself on his forearms. Arthur looked ‘up’ again to see Milton’s face contorted in pain and Albert looking aghast, still holding onto his Volcanic.

Albert slowly shook his head.

Milton reared back into a kneeling position over Arthur and twisted around at someone behind him, at Arthur’s feet who was out of sight. Whatever he saw actually made him _chuckle._

“I bet you think-”

_BANG_

Milton’s words were torn out of his chest with the rest of the flesh that erupted from the shotgun blast. The force from the second shot was enough to literally push his body off of Arthur’s and three feet away, closer to Albert. With a pained yelp Milton collapsed to the ground clutching his chest and writhed for a few seconds before he was still.

Arthur looked down towards his feet in time to catch Abigail throw his shotgun to the ground with disgust.

“What an awful man…” Then, turning to her friend on the ground, “You alright, Arthur?”

He couldn’t manage a response beyond nodding. Abigail offered him a hand up, and in vain he tried wiping the blood - both Milton’s and his own - before accepting it and being hoisted off the ground. Once he was standing, he could see Sadie sliding down the incline at the back of the house.

“Abigail, what the hell is wrong with you sneaking off like that?!”

“Seems I’m the only one around here who wanted to _do_ something about Milton! Good thing I did, too, Arthur here was about to die, and _you,”_ turning to point an accusing finger at Albert, “Were gonna let it happen!”

“I told him not to,” Arthur defended before Albert could. “He don’t need blood on his hands like that.”

It was Sadie’s turn to question what just happened. “Why didn’t you just _shoot_ him, Arthur?”

He felt exhausted, sapped from both the fight and the sun, and wanted to sit down somewhere and just catch his goddamned _breath_ for once, but standing in the middle of an overgrown front lawn provided no options for that.

Albert coming close and holding Arthur up in a supporting side-hug was the next best thing, and a damned good thing at that.

“I didn’t want his blood neither,” he spoke to the ground. “Thought maybe there coulda been another way.”

“Well you let _me_ wrestle with that bastard’s spilled blood; I promise you I won’t be losing sleep over him,” Abigail confidently assured. “Now where is my son?!”

“I don’t know,” Arthur confessed with a shrug.

“I do,” Albert announced. They all looked to him and he continued, “I think we should leave now though.”

“Why?,” Abigail prompted. Albert eyed each of them with a grave expression.

“We should hurry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Broke: Albert is super humble about his photography because he’s just an inherently humble guy.  
> Woke: Albert is super humble about his photography because he just assumes that everyone can do that weird slow-down-time thing to get the perfect shot.
> 
> So my own personal spin on describing DeadEye has usually been focused around mentioning A) specific breathing actions and B) a post-DeadEye headache. If you go back and re-read the more recent chapters from Albert’s perspective when he was preparing to take a time-sensitive shot for whoever’s death they were staging that day, I specifically mentioned how he was breathing just before taking the shot as a sort of foreshadowing to this. I had the idea of Albert being able to use DeadEye for quite a while now, and I thought it would make sense because that seems like a super useful skill for a photographer, no?
> 
> For encounter-balancing purposes (god, my DM thought process is showing here), I knew someone would have to be left behind at the ranch and Javier seemed like the most natural pick, what with the instant conflict he’d have with Amos being the catalyst for him being distracted. I debated having him stay behind with an injury from the Mercer Boys attack, but I’ve already shot the poor guy twice.
> 
> Also, because in this AU the fishing scene with Jack and Milton’s ‘visit’ to Clemens Point never happened, this literally was the first time he and Arthur met and spoke face-to-face.
> 
> Here’s some behind-the-scenes explanations that I just could not figure out how to get into the narrative: No longer bound to playing by the book because he wasn’t a Pinkerton anymore, Milton hired the Mercer Boys to cause a distraction the same morning he’d be on the ranch. The idea was to kidnap Abigail and Jack to further ramp up pressure on John to turn on his friends because without the bulk of his volunteers anymore, Milton was outnumbered and wanted to lean harder into the divide-and-conquer strategy. He’d paid some Del Lobos to ferry him across into Mexico at two different locations (The Old Bacchus Place and Brittlebrush Trawl), the idea being it’d be harder for John to find his family if they were literally in a different country and separated, but the Del Lobos just took his money and flaked on Milton.
> 
> Why did Ross’ tuberculosis progress way faster than Bill’s did? Because it made for a more dramatic death scene, don’t worry about it.
> 
> Also, do you think I can get away with the “Canon-Compliant” tag for this work because Abigail ended up being the one who shot Milton, or do you think that’s stretching it? /s
> 
> I am so glad to have finally gotten this one out there for you guys; I was worried for a bit there that I wouldn’t be able to find my groove again. I’ll definitely come back and spruce this one up again in the future, but for now I’m just happy to prove that I’m still alive and I’m not abandoning this fic, not when we’re so close to the end.


	25. John Marston

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur attempts to save his brother's life. There are complications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me last week: I have this whole week off from work, I’m gonna get so much writing done!  
> Me now: Best I can do is one chapter, take it or leave it.
> 
> This chapter picks up about an hour after we left off, same day.

Later, when there would be more time, Charles would go on to explain that he didn’t want to risk leaving John alone to move the bodies.

During the ride over, Albert’s description of what had happened was frustratingly sparse on details. All he shared was that John was shot, Jack was safe, and Ross was dead, which left too many unconnected dots for Arthur’s liking. Stepping over the ex-Pinkerton’s body, still face down in a concerningly large pool of blood with a knife stuck in his back, wasn’t as much of a surprise as the second body by the outhouse Albert had conveniently forgotten to mention.

Abigail flatly ignored the unknown man’s body and made it a point to kick Ross’ corpse in the flank before rounding the corner, ahead of the others. Sadie lingered by the horses with a nod to Arthur, wordlessly signaling her consent to keep watch just in case. Arthur studied a smear of blood along the outer wall of the small shack and was about to question Albert what  _ exactly _ had happened here when Abigail’s gasp interrupted his thoughts.

“Oh,  _ John…” _

Arthur cautiously approached the open front door himself, fully knowing what to expect inside, but knowing he needed to see it anyway. He followed the sounds of Jack smothering his cries into his mother’s embrace and peered in just past the door frame to see John situated in a small, broken bed. His side was bandaged up, but still stained through with that all-too-familiar shade of angry crimson. Arthur pulled back and away from the entrance to allow Charles room to exit and leave the Marstons alone for a bit; he’d seen enough anyway.

“How’s he doin’?,” he whispered. Charles leaned against the small railing that ringed the dock. Arthur noted how exhausted he looked.

“Not well. I did what I could, but the bullet’s still in there. Never had to take one out before; that was always Miss Grimshaw’s job.”

“She sure had a lotta practice on us…,” Arthur mused. He jerked his head back behind them, “What happened here?”

“John and I were going to sneak up on this place when Albert showed up. John ended up running a distraction while Al and I hid on the sides. I think Ross convinced John to toss his gun aside, then Al opened fire and missed. John got shot before I could stop Ross.” Concise as the explanation was, it was still more descriptive than what they’d managed to get out of Albert.

“Where’d John get shot?”

Patting his left flank to pantomime, Charles said, “Right here. Just muscle, I think, but he lost a lot of blood. It’s been over an hour now.” Arthur nodded his acknowledgement, then shrugged casually.

“Okay, well let’s get him back to the ranch. He’ll be fine if we hurry.”

Charles shook his head dejectedly. “He can’t even sit up in the bed right now, no way he can ride a horse. Fading in and out too. We’re gonna have to move him in a wagon.”

Arthur didn’t need to point out that they didn’t have a wagon and were likely miles away from the closest one. As he pondered what to do about that, he turned his head to the left and caught Sadie bullying Albert into helping her move the body by the outhouse into some bushes, presumably so Jack wouldn’t have to see it when they all inevitably left.

“Who was that feller?,” Arthur asked without facing Charles, changing the subject.

“A volunteer I think? Tried getting the jump on John, but it didn’t work, or at least that’s what I could gather. This was Albert’s side; he had the better view.” There was a pause before Charles continued with a bitter tone, “Before he ran off and left us, that is.”

Arthur turned back to his right and tried placating his friend, “I don’t know about you, but I’m glad he did. He showed up at just the right time.” Charles narrowed his eyes, more out of curiosity than annoyance.

“Where were  _ you? _ Obviously you figured something out if you found Abigail.”

He gestured lazily up-river, “Some hideout north of here Sadie knew about.”

“Was Milton there?,” Charles bluntly asked.

Arthur nodded.

“Where is he now?”

“Still there…” The words hung in the air plainly, without need for nuance.

He waited a beat then continued, “Did you do it?” Arthur shook his head.

“Abigail did, but Al still saved me.”

Charles’ brows raised almost imperceptibly before he returned his focus to the more immediate matter. “You can fill me in later. What are we going to do about John?”

Going with the only thing he could think of, Arthur said, “I’ll head back to the ranch, see if I can beg Bonnie for help one last time before she kicks me off her property.” By all accounts, she’d have every right to do so in Arthur’s opinion; nothing but trouble seemed to follow his appearances at the ranch.

“I’ll come with you,” Charles sighed while pushing off from the railing, more as if he were trying to convince himself it was a good idea than out of any genuine desire.

“You don’t gotta do that. Besides, I’m still worried about whoever they were supposed to meet up with finally showing up.” Charles followed where Arthur pointed to, out across the wide and empty river. He didn’t see any threats, but he saw Arthur’s logic and nodded.

“You want me to stay here just in case?”

“The lot of you, I’ll be quicker on my own. And I trust you to actually keep Al in place this time.”

Charles forced an eye roll, but the weak smirk didn’t linger. “I think I can manage that. Do you want to… say something to John? I think he’s still awake right now.”

The previous mention that John had been slipping in and out of consciousness was concerning, but Arthur knew if he went in there, he wouldn’t be doing anything other than taking up more time than they had and upsetting himself in the process.

“Nah, I’ll talk to him later,” he replied with a projected confidence. “You and Sadie sit tight, keep everyone safe, I’ll be back in a bit.”

“I’ve been trying to keep John safe ever since this started, couldn’t even manage that...”

Charles’ demeanor switched to one of guilt, then surprise, as if the words escaped his mouth against his will.

“Well it’s not like he makes it easy,” Arthur tried reassuring, “but for what it’s worth, I’ve felt a hell of a lot better that John wasn’t alone for most of this. You’ve had his back this whole time, and I appreciate that. His whole family does.”

Charles huffed then said, “I wish John was smart enough to even see how lucky he is to  _ have _ a family of his own like that.” There was a shade of bitterness underlying the delivery that Arthur couldn’t interpret as anything other than jealousy.

They definitely didn’t have time to unpack whatever  _ that _ was about.

Instead, he ignored the flash of awkwardness he felt and clapped Charles on the back. “You wish John was smarter? Join the club. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Charles nodded silently, then took up a position on the river side of the property to keep a lookout, leaving Arthur to his business. A brief chat with Sadie and Albert explaining his intentions and a few more assurances that everything would be alright later, Arthur swung a leg up and over Ivy who was more than happy to finally be getting a chance to tear up the trails without Penny setting the pace. Arthur didn’t need to kick hard with his spurs to get her to break into a sprint heading north.

He pondered dipping inside the shack, just to chat with John briefly, offer some assurances, maybe assess the wound for himself.

It was easier not to, yet he couldn’t help wondering if he would regret not saying goodbye later.

_ Hope I’m not makin’ a mistake. _

* * *

The thing about mistakes is that they come in many forms. Sometimes it’s forgetting something important back at the house when you’re already halfway to the state border. Sometimes it’s as simple as calling someone the wrong name with an undeserved level of confidence.

Sometimes it’s three men on horseback following you for the past mile when you’re all alone and in a hurry.

It wasn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility that they were simply three travellers that just so happened to be heading in the same direction. But Arthur had spent enough time in these parts now to know that no one lingered this far outside of Bonnie’s ranch for good reason, and his belief in coincidences was at an all-time low. Whoever was behind him had business with  _ him, _ especially if they were managing to keep up with the breakneck pace Ivy had set for herself. No business with strangers had been good business lately, and Arthur didn’t want to risk bringing yet more trouble upon Bonnie’s literal doorstep right before pleading for her help again.

_ I don’t have time for this... _

Two strong pats to the neck and a gentle pull on the reins signalled to Ivy to slow down, which she did. Arthur guided the panting animal just off of the dirt road onto some yellowed grass, cursing himself for not choosing a more shaded spot as he baked under the strong afternoon sun. Sure enough, three young men came galloping up to his spot and slowed as they approached, instead of barreling past him. As he got a closer look at them, Arthur noted just how young they appeared, but more noteworthy was the fact that he recognized the one in the middle; it was the reluctant one being coerced by his two friends in the Armadillo bar he’d eavesdropped on several weeks back.

He groaned internally.

“You in a rush to get somewhere, friend?,” the middle one questioned. Arthur couldn’t remember the name, just some mention of working in his father’s shop, but he was clearly a full-time bandit now.

“I ain’t your friend, what the hell do you want?,” Arthur spat back, almost visibly wearing his disinterest.

The center man tripped over his own tongue trying to mutter some comeback, leaving his friend to his left, who Arthur didn’t recognize from that night at the bar, to pick things up. This one was sporting a green bandana around his neck. “We just wanna know what brings an old man all the way out here by himself.”

Arthur clenched his jaw involuntarily at the word ‘old.’

“None of your goddamn business, that’s what. Now get outta my sight!”

“Here’s the thing,” the second man continued, apparently not so easily rattled as his first friend, “We think we can help you.”

“Doubt that,” he said testily. Ivy tossed her head abruptly, seemingly picking up on her rider’s energy.

“No, really! You can travel faster if you lighten your load. Once you give us everything you’ve got, that is.” That all but confirmed Arthur’s suspicion that this would be an attempted robbery, but they were going about it all wrong. The fact that they didn’t try scaring him more, didn’t come at him with their weapons drawn already, didn’t even to bother circling him or cut off his escape, didn’t even get him off his horse, weren’t even covering their faces with their bandanas; it was almost  _ insulting _ how amateurish the whole thing was.

He did  _ not _ have time for this.

The man with the green bandana reached down to his side to grab his pistol.

Arthur exhaled.

One second, three shots, and a brief, miserable headache later and all three Mercer Boys found themselves hatless, aghast at the man mounted before them pulling off the feat before any of them could even arm themselves. Arthur pulled the hammer back on his Volcanic and aimed it squarely at the trio’s de facto leader, the one with the green bandana. The pain flaring in his temple as his brain rebelled against the overexertion only added an additional layer of intimidation to his scowl.

And despite all that, after a few beats of silence, the center man, the shopkeeper’s son, apparently found his courage again and managed to laugh.

“You missed!”

Arthur coolly shifted his gaze, and his aim, over to the fool who dared to speak out of turn.

“Can  _ you _ do that?”

Now staring down the barrel of a gun and realizing his friends at either side were doing nothing about it, the man seemingly lost his confidence as quickly as he’d regained it. “Do what?”

“Shoot the hat off a man without killin’ him. Before he can fire back at you.”

“What? I-... I mean-”

“Show me,” Arthur challenged without a hint of levity in his voice. “Shoot my hat off before I send the next one between your eyes.” When none of the Mercer Boys spoke up, he continued, “And I’d still have four left after that if you two wanna try as well.”

No one spoke after that, but not out of any desire to sizzle in the New Austin heat that apparently kept up well into October. The fact of the matter was that Arthur had a gun aimed squarely at the head of a young man not ten feet away. A young man who he knew for a fact didn’t even want to join up with a stupid gang out in the desert in the first place. It would be the easiest thing in the world to squeeze the trigger three more times and be done with the interruption, and everyone present knew that.

Finally, the furthest most one leaned over slowly in his saddle to whisper, “Pete, what the hell’re we  _ doin’?” _

“What  _ are _ you doin’, Pete?,” Arthur teased. “I don’t got time for this nonsense, so you better make up your mind  _ quick.” _ The shopkeeper’s son flinched at the way Arthur barked out that last word.

_ Don’t be like Eddie… _

Pete wet his lips nervously.

Please _ don’t be like Eddie... _

“You know what?...,” the son finally offered with a shaky voice.

Angry and fearful eyes flashed in Arthur’s mind.

“We’re actually in a hurry to get somewhere ourselves…”

Those eyes in his mind closed and Arthur felt instant relief.

“That so?,” he prompted.

Arthur could almost see the decision being made behind those young eyes, not as close-up and as angry as Eddie’s were, but desperate with the will to live all the same.

“We’ll just leave you to it.”

It figured that a botched encounter like this that began with so many rookie mistakes would end with one as well. Pete spurred his horse under him to wheel around and head back the way they came, without so much as a backwards glance at Arthur. All this in spite of the fact that he had a clear shot at Pete’s exposed back, even at this range with his Volcanic still drawn. The other two Mercer Boys likewise turned tail and fled when they realized Arthur wasn’t the easy pickings they’d pegged him for.

Like an animal operating solely on instinct, Arthur followed the one who lagged behind with the sights of his Volcanic with unsettling ease and accuracy. A lifetime of deadly skirmishes had trained him to never let a man who threatened you to get away, and the opportunity was presenting itself to him on a silver platter.

But he didn’t pull the trigger. Squeezed it a hair before he realized what he was doing, before remembering what he  _ should _ be doing, yes. But it was a reflex that he hoped he could unlearn in time. He wasn’t above a parting quip however.

“Hey! You fellers forgot your hats!”

None of the Mercer Boys so much as dared to peek back over their shoulders as they kicked up dust behind them.

* * *

_ 10/16/04 _

_ Milton’s dead. Ross too. Turns out they’re not even Pinkertons anymore, so hopefully no one will care if they go missing. _

_ Abigail and Jack are safe  _ _ finally _ _ , but John got shot pretty bad. He’s barely hanging on - we’re all waiting to see if he pulls through. Not looking good right now. Just hope he comes to before Bonnie’s patience with the lot of us finally runs out. _

* * *

_ 10/17/04 _

_ [Sketch of the main house of the MacFarlane Ranch.] _

* * *

_ 10/17/04 _

_ John’s still not up. _

* * *

_ 10/18/04 _

_ [Sketch of John tucked in a bed, expression undefined and unreadable. Caption simply reads, “John Marston.”] _

* * *

By design, guest rooms aren’t meant to be perfectly hospitable; one doesn’t want a guest to overstay their welcome after all. Not that it could be helped in the present situation.

At the direction of the decidedly dubious doctor from Thieves’ Landing, Bonnie had all but boarded up the cozy room with the darkest drapes she had available. The rationale had been to keep the space dark enough to help John rest and recover; a logical premise, even if it was ultimately unsuccessful. The drapes were thick enough to block out even the high noon sun as Arthur could currently attest to, but at his seat next to the window he could part them just so, allowing a honed blade of light to stab through the dancing dust particles and onto the page he worked diligently on.

He’d asked to be alone for this. He wanted to get this tribute to the moment and his brother just right.

Begrudgingly, an emotional Abigail finally caved and allowed Arthur this request. The air in the space was completely still, the acrid scent of the doctor’s salves allowed to linger for days after their application. The only sound in the room was that of Arthur’s pencil scratching against the paper, desperate to capture the darkness that engulfed the motionless body on the bed. It was the only sound Arthur had heard in several minutes.

Until it wasn’t.

“I know you’re not writing about  _ me _ in that little book.”

Without lifting his eyes from the sketch, Arthur responded, “Shut up. You’re supposed to be restin’.”

“I  _ am _ resting.” Somehow John’s voice always managed to be even more grating and hoarse than it normally was after a nap, likely a result of dehydration. It was almost impressive how distinct it was, even considering how Arthur was still only hearing things through one ear, courtesy of Milton’s gun.

“Not if you’re talkin’ you’re not.”

“I can talk and rest at the same time.”

Arthur smirked at his journal, knowing John couldn’t see it. “You actually can’t; doctor’s orders. He told me while you were out cold.”

“He did not, shut up.”

_ “You _ shut up.”

Unsurprisingly, John moved to roll forward to a sitting position in the bed to escalate things and, unsurprisingly, yelped out in pain involuntarily before crashing backwards into place.

Arthur  _ tsked _ aloud and shook his head cheekily as he closed his journal. He was glad they could even still banter like this.

_ To think we almost lost this… _

Not wearing his hat indoors meant he couldn’t hide his eyes under its brim during uncomfortable moments, but the overall darkness that returned when he let the drapes fall back into place did the job just as well. Openly, if not a little cautiously, Arthur studied the younger man best he could; still bandaged up tight and discernibly pale and thinner from the ordeal, even in this lighting. John, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, didn’t notice the scrutiny, but still managed to get the next word in before Arthur.

“Why are  _ you _ in here, anyway?”

“To give Abigail a break from worryin’ about you.”

John let his arms fall to his sides and blinked rapidly at the ceiling several times. “She’s probably doing that anyway wherever she is.”

“Maybe, but at least she’s gettin’ some sun finally. She wanted me to go grab her when you woke up.”

“Is that what you’re gonna do?”

Arthur leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, keeping the journal in his lap. “In a bit. Wanna milk this out a little longer before Bonnie puts me back to work; she’s got Al shovelin’ horse shit in the stables right now, so I’m gonna have to put up with  _ that _ smell tonight.”

“Well Al’s gotta put up with  _ your _ smell  _ every _ night…”

With the folded book still in his hands, Arthur extended it out and playfully smacked it against John’s knee, who hadn’t seen it coming. John flinched and winced immediately.

“I did  _ not _ hit you that hard,” Arthur complained.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m still in a world of hurt over here. I got  _ shot, _ remember?”

“We’ve all been shot, you ain’t special,” he grumbled. He meant it as a joke, but judging by the ensuing silence, it only served to dampen the mood for both of them.

“That’s sad that that’s true, isn’t it?”

Arthur didn’t have a good answer for that.

Instead, he let the conversation lull for a few beats before asking, “How’re you feelin’? And don’t lie to me.” John folded his hands together to rest on his chest, still looking up at the ceiling.

“I feel… well my side hurts like hell and it hurts to breathe, but at least I still can, you know? ...Abigail told me Milton and Ross are dead, but… it doesn’t feel like it’s over. I still feel like they’re out there hunting me, like they’re coming for us. Well not Ross, I saw  _ him _ die, but Milton… he’s like this ghost in the back of my head that won’t leave me alone.”

It was a fair sentiment when one considered the situation. Milton had had John’s son tucked away in a secret attic unbeknownst to anyone for over a month. While Arthur and Albert had allowed themselves brief moments here and there to ignore their predicament, there was no way John could allow himself that luxury. And then there was the fact that Milton had almost succeeded in pulling it off a second time...

“Well we went back and dumped him into the river, so if you really wanna see it for yourself, go fishin’ at the bottom of Manteca Falls.”

“I can’t fish for shit, you know that.”

“Maybe Al’ll do it for you if you ask real nicely.”

“Maybe…,” John chuckled as his train of thought shifted. “How’s  _ he _ doing?”

“Alive. Thanks to you it sounds like.”

“Glad to hear it. I’d hate if Ross got away with shooting us both… Kinda wish Al landed that first shot though.”

He understood the joke John was going for, but this one didn’t land either. “Al ain’t like us.”

“I know,” John yielded. “And he’s better for it… At least he tried though, that was pretty brave of him. Distracted Ross long enough to give me a chance.”

“I’m still a little hazy on what exactly happened out there,” Arthur admitted. John shrugged as much as his injury would allow.

“Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“Mattered to Bonnie,” he pointed out. “She wanted to know why the hell you were bleedin’ all over her wagon if it had nothing to do with the Mercer Boys.” Even with limited sight, he could sense John tense up on the bed.

“What’d you tell her?”

Mentally glossing over the intervening incident with the shopkeeper’s son, Arthur began, “Not  _ too _ much. Got back here to find Javier and Amos about to square up and quick draw on one another-”

“I’d put my money on Javier,” John interrupted.

“I don’t know, I wouldn’t put it past an old feller like Amos to have some tricks up his sleeve.”

“Takes one to know one I guess.”

Another light smack on the leg, another disproportionate wince.

Arthur continued, “Had to jump between those two and shout ‘em down myself.” Even in the darkness he could see John’s features contort in confusion.

“You put yourself between two men who wanted to shoot each other?”

“Listen, I’m not about to be lectured by  _ you _ on dumbass decisions. But yeah, I talked ‘em down.”

John took a moment to adjust himself into the closest thing approximating a seated position he could manage, which wasn’t much of a difference from how he was lying before. “How’d you manage that?”

A damned good question. One that Arthur wouldn’t have believed if he wasn’t there himself two days ago. Standing on that stretch of road in front of the MacFarlane’s main house that had seen too much action and bloodshed recently; almost on the exact spot Albert had set up his camera to take that portrait of Bonnie and her entire staff that cheery morning so many weeks ago.

To his right, Amos had shouted, “Get outta the way, Mason! I’m gonna put this sadistic bastard in the ground once and for all!”

An equal distance away, barely five paces to his left, Javier made his own appeal. “I can take him, Arthur. He wants to take his shot so bad? I say let him!”

“Ain’t no one else gettin’ shot today!,” Arthur tried, but his words and upturned open hands bracing between the two opponents weren’t enough to calm their tempers.

“I can put an end to the Mercer Boys right here, right now!  _ Move, _ Mason!”

“I told you, I’m not even with them anymore!”

“So you’re gonna go on to start a new gang? All the more reason to shoot you now!”

From the front porch of the main house, just where she posed for Albert’s portrait, Bonnie stood, watching the whole scene play out. No doubt her penchant for being hospitable to her guests was clashing against her hatred for the Mercer Boys and what they had done to her top ranch hand under Javier’s watch. Her bolt action rifle rested in her crossed arms, nearby but not threatening anyone, signalling her own indecision on the matter. She studied Arthur with a conflicted look as the two continued bickering.

“If I did, it wouldn’t be  _ here. _ I didn’t even want to come back to New Austin!”

“Well I’m gonna make sure you never leave this state once Mason here gets outta-”

“He’s not gonna do that, Amos,” Arthur interrupted. The message was directed at the men at either side of him, but Arthur kept his eyes trained forward, at Bonnie. It was her who got the next word in before the shouting match could continue.

“How do you know that, Arthur?” She took a step off the porch onto the small path that lead to the road, but did not come further. He was fully ad-libbing his approach to getting the two adversaries to back down, so it surprised him how readily an answer came to him.

“Because people can change… People can change if they want to, and Javier don’t wanna live that life no more.” By his own admission, Arthur was putting words into his friend’s mouth at this point, but Javier had the good sense to keep quiet in the event it wasn’t true.

“That’s a mighty optimistic outlook on your fellow Man, don’t you think?,” Bonnie challenged.

“Miss Bonnie…  _ Bonnie… _ If you knew the kind of man  _ I _ used to be, you wouldn’t have let me come within a mile of your ranch. But you welcomed me and Al into your home for  _ days. _ Did I ever do you wrong?”

She cast a brief sideways glance at her eldest staff member before meeting Arthur’s eyes again, “Not that I can tell. Amos here wouldn’t shut up about how much he missed you helping around out here once you left.”

“The Arthur from ten years ago - hell,  _ five _ years ago - woulda robbed you folk blind. But I ain’t like that no more.”

“Because ‘people can change?’,” she repeated with a healthy dose of skepticism.

“They can. Like my brother John, he was a mean son-of-a-bitch back in the day, but he settled down and stopped robbin’ folk.” Bonnie seemed genuinely surprised by that.

_ “John _ was a criminal?”

“A long time ago now,” Arthur nodded. “But he changed, he’s a better man now... But he’s also dyin’. He got shot by the river a little while ago, and I need your help.”

To his left he could just barely make out Javier speaking to himself, “John got shot?”

Arthur continued, “I know I ain’t got no right beggin’ you for help again, but I need it, Bonnie. I will build you a new guest house - I will build you  _ two _ new guest houses - if you lend me a wagon and make sure my brother doesn’t die today.  _ Please.” _

He could still remember the doubt and uncertainty that clouded Bonnie’s face as she contemplated the offer and premise. Javier likewise kept quiet, or at least Arthur didn’t hear him whisper anything with his blown-out left ear, but Amos had clearly made up his mind.

“Bonnie…,” the old hand growled in warning.

Several more seconds dragged out in agony before she responded, “Amos, get one of the wagons ready.”

“What?!,” Amos shouted.

“What?,” John asked, less angrily, but just as confused.

“That’s what she said,” Arthur explained with a shrug.

“And he just did it?”

“Well there was a lot more shoutin’ after that, but after I got Javier to back down, Amos did too.”

John eased off his elbows, lowering himself back down onto his back with an almost disappointed air about him. “I find that kinda hard to believe.”

“Guess you had to be there,” Arthur dismissed.

The competing factors of colder weather approaching and New Austin being a naturally warmer state lead to the room not being able to make up its mind whether or not it wanted to be uncomfortably warm or downright chilly. The temperature struck some sort of unsatisfactory compromise that Arthur decided he didn’t care for at all. John’s question broke the long silence that had followed.

“Do you really believe that though?,” he asked almost in a whisper.

“What?”

“...That people can change.”

Arthur uncrossed his legs and leaned forward onto his knees as he thought about it.

“I do. Least people that  _ wanna _ change. I think…  _ I _ changed a lot since the gang. You too. Just took all of this,” gesturing at nothing in particular, “for us to realize. Wish we’d learned that was an option a long time ago. What d’you think?”

He let the words hang there, feeling oddly vulnerable for finally voicing something he’d been denying in himself for a while. John saw fit to kill the mood.

“I think you are one sentimental, sappy old man today.”

“And you’re a cheeky bastard. See, this is why I don’t talk serious with you no more,” Arthur groaned. As John chuckled to himself, he leaned back and peered past the drapes in hopes of finding Abigail so he could tell her her immature husband was awake not. All he found was a landscape that was too bright and intense for his eyes to accept.

“So what happens now?,” John asked as Arthur recoiled and let the drapes fall back into place, newly blinded.

“You build up what little strength you’ve got and we go home before Bonnie kicks us to the curb.” John’s mirth all but evaporated at the mention of ‘home.’

“Think that’s safe?”

“I sent Javier back to Beecher’s to check it out before we take you home; he couldn’t wait to get away from here anyway. And I sent Charles and Sadie with him to make sure he didn’t turn the place upside down lookin’ for his cut of the Blackwater money.”

That answer mostly seemed to placate John, who let his shoulders ease slightly. “I hope no one’s still watching the place for Milton or trying to squat in it. I wouldn’t wanna be the guy left behind to face off against  _ those _ three.”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that.” He rose from his seat and stretched out his back before continuing, “I’m gonna go get Abigail, tell her you’re up.” He took two paces, but John stopped him before he got to the door.

“Arthur.”

His hand rested on the door handle as he lazily looked back. “Hmm?”

“Thank you… for… I couldn’t’ve done this without you and Al. And the others too but…”

Evidently John was still as good with wording his thoughts as Arthur was. Which is to say, not well at all. Arthur spared him the struggle and fell back on a reliable favorite.

“You’re my brother, John.”

The younger man clenched his jaw and nodded.

“You too.”

An entire novel’s worth of sentiment was woven in those words, but they were sufficient on their own. That was all that needed to be said.

* * *

Safety be damned. There could have been half a dozen squatters that took up residence in that house and Arthur would have ignored them that evening. Dead on his feet after a full day of riding from Bonnie’s to Beecher’s then back to Tall Trees, the only thing he wanted to look for was his bed.

The house,  _ their _ house, had a smell that was familiar and foreign at the same time. Whether it was from not being here for literal weeks or some other nasty surprise they’d find in the morning, Arthur didn’t care.

“Almost feels like someone else’s house, doesn’t it?,” Albert quipped as he fumbled around in the dark of the kitchen. Arthur answered after he finished locking the door behind him.

“Just glad to have a roof over my head that I don’t have to pay for.”

“That’s  _ just _ what we need; you fighting with some poor hotel clerk again…”

“Not my fault they always rub me the wrong way.” Not caring to go down into the basement and set all of Albert’s photography bags up on their shelves - only be told he put them in the wrong places anyway - Arthur opted to just leave them on the couch in the main living space. It wasn’t like Lily was here to root around in them anyway.

“Well you  _ are _ the common denominator there.  _ I _ never have any trouble booking a room.”

“What’re you tryin’ to say, Mason?,” Arthur leveled over his shoulder in a dangerous tone. Albert was immune to it.

“Nothing at all…” The photographer muttered a quiet victory to himself as he found a box of matches and lit their strongest oil lamp to inspect the immediate space; splintered wood still littered the kitchen floor. “I forgot you shot the good chair…”

“I got spooked.”

Albert hummed neutrally, keeping his opinion on the matter to himself before going to inspect the cabinets. “You don’t think we have anything left to eat, do you?”

“If the mice haven’t gotten to it yet by now, you probably don’t want it,” Arthur pointed out as he opened the door to their pitch-black bedroom, shucking his boots off in the process.

“You’re probably right… Guess we can buy some things at the Post when we get Lily tomorrow.”

“Hey, bring that light in here. Unless you’re gonna sleep out on the couch tonight.”

“I was just checking to see if anything looked out of place. We haven’t been here in weeks; you can’t blame me for looking,” Albert bickered back without any genuine irritation.

The bedroom likewise didn’t show any signs of being tampered with and Arthur wondered if his original plan to get Albert out and away from the house was necessary at all. It didn’t sound like Susan had broken under duress and cried out his address to Milton, but he had no idea what was even happening back then. It wouldn’t have necessarily been easy for him to sneak out and leave Albert behind for two months anyway. And Albert would no doubt end up going to Beecher’s Hope one day and have no idea what kind of emotional landmine he’d be stepping on when he innocently asked Abigail where Jack was. No, in retrospect it was probably better that he brought Albert along, even if their home wasn’t in danger at all. Even if doing so had directly endangered Albert, Arthur was glad to have the man at his side; he could scarcely fathom how things would have shaken out differently were it not for his plans that resulted in undercutting Milton’s support, to say nothing of the fact that-

“I can hear you thinking from here.”

It was a line Arthur had frequently used on Albert on occasion, and was surprised to find himself on the receiving end of it for once.

He twisted in place from his seated position on his side of the bed to find his husband already slid under the covers, waiting to turn the lamp off. “Sorry, just… you know…”

Albert watched silently as Arthur disrobed and lay down next to him. “You don’t think we actually had to leave if Milton never knew where you lived,” he stated as if the words were printed on Arthur’s forehead and all he had to do was read them.

It was almost frightening how accurate Albert had been, but it certainly saved Arthur from explaining. “You know me too well.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” He was trying to insert some levity into the dark room, and succeeded, momentarily.

“These past weeks… it was a lot. This was worse than when the gang split up.”

“You’re not wrong,” Albert yielded. They were both silent for a stretch, a combination of being lost in their own thoughts and just overall fatigue.

“And it’s over, at least I think it’s over, but I don’t know if this is just another break before the next thing comes up,” Arthur said. “Folk got long memories, I don’t know that something like this won’t happen again.”

Albert propped himself up on his left shoulder and turned on his side to face Arthur. The scar from the bullet was just barely visible from the lantern light being cast from the side table behind him. “Then we’ll face the next demon from your past when they show up.”

“You gonna actually help me out next time?” The line came out way more bitterly than Arthur intended and regretted it immediately. Albert looked understandably hurt.

“You’re talking about Milton when he… I  _ would _ have, I was ready to. But you told me not to intervene!”

“I told you not to  _ shoot _ him.”

“Right…,” Albert said, not fully sure he was understanding.

“I didn’t mean do nothin’ at all! You coulda punched the guy or tackled him, get him off me.” Suddenly Albert was too ashamed to maintain eye contact and Arthur silently scolded himself again.

“I must’ve misunderstood…”

Arthur turned his head to the right to face him straight-on. “Look, I don’t wanna fight over this, just… Is this what you want? This kinda life? You  _ sure _ you wanna spend the rest of your life with me after all that with Milton?”

“Are we really doing this again?,” Albert sighed.  _ “Yes, _ Arthur, I am  _ sure _ I want to spend the rest of my life with the only man I’ve ever been brave enough to let myself love. I accept that you have a past you’re not proud of. Do you remember what I told you in that room in Armadillo after our fight?”

“You told me to finally push the beds together on our last night there.”

Albert sidestepped the deflection, “I told you I’d give you a hundred years of my life if you’d have me... Really, the question here is whether or not  _ you’re _ sure you want to be with  _ me.” _

Arthur grinned despite the seriousness of the conversation. “You  _ are _ a handful, always tryin’ to get yourself killed. But I stuck around this long; might as well see where you go next.”

Albert let his mouth hang open, as if struggling to find his words, which was never a good sign. Ultimately he led with, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, actually.”

“Hmm?”

“My next project. I’ve had this idea bouncing around in my head this whole time, but obviously it never felt right to bring it up, what with everything happening.”

Arthur nervously cocked an eyebrow. “You sound worried.”

“Well this new project could very well be the most dangerous one yet.”

“More dangerous than bears and wolves?”

“Easily,” Albert nodded instantly.

“More dangerous than takin’ pictures of people shootin’ at each other with real bullets?”

“For the record, I never told any of you to use real bullets,” Albert contested with a raised finger and a grin he failed to fight back. “But yes, even worse than that.”

Arthur rose up on both of his own elbows and said, “Now hold up, I remember you sayin’ you were gonna take up an easy project next. You said, ‘interestingly-shaped clouds.’” Albert cocked his head to the side as he considered it.

“You know, that’s not entirely a wrong way to describe it.” Arthur sank back into the bed, flat on his back in exasperation.

“Al, what the hell’re you talkin’ about?”

“I’ll give you the full sales pitch in the morning, but if you want the short version…” He paused for an unnecessarily long time just to torture Arthur, “What do you know about… tornados?”

The word instantly brought up memories of the gang’s early years working the Great Plains. Summer storms where the sky turned impossibly black in the middle of the day and sent their small clique scattering for any cover that  _ wouldn’t _ be sucked into the sky. A horrible column of destruction that sounded like a freight train and could be upon you almost as quickly.

It had been several years since Arthur had last seen one, and it wasn’t an experience he was keen on repeating. No one in their right mind would actively seek one out; that would take a certain kind of insanity and disregard for danger, and the only person Arthur could think of that fit that description was…

He covered his eyes with an arm and let out a ten second-long sigh.

“I was afraid that’d be your reaction,” Albert confessed with no small hint of amusement. Arthur felt, but didn’t see the other man roll over in the bed to douse the lantern. “Don’t worry; we’re outside of storm season so we have plenty of time. I’ll run some ideas by you in the morning, get your thoughts. Goodnight, Arthur.”

As Albert shifted his weight around on the mattress to get comfortable, a single thought half-seriously kept echoing in Arthur’s mind.

_ I shoulda let that damn coyote steal his bag… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Albert would absolutely be America’s first storm chaser, don’t even kid yourself.
> 
> So I really struggled about how to wrap up John’s involvement in this story for a long time. I’m talking literal weeks. I basically had two opposing rationales over whether or not to kill him. On the one hand:
> 
> A) If at the end of a story like this where the stakes were presented as being a matter of life-or-death for several of the main characters, but the end result looks identical to how things were before the conflict initially presented itself, were the stakes ever that high? If Milton carries out his plan and is still thwarted and at the end of the day he has nothing to show for it, was he ever really that much of a threat? It felt like there should be a “price” paid to lend a sense of gravity to the main conflict of the work.
> 
> On the other hand:
> 
> B) What would John’s death actually add to the story? Would his passing actually make the relative safety for everyone else feel earned because of the sacrifice he made? Does a bittersweet ending truly feel better than a happy ending? Isn’t giving these characters a happy ending literally the reason why I started writing?; because I found the canon ending so jarring and upsetting?
> 
> Ultimately I decided on sparing John, failing to see the value in offing him, but not before heavily teasing it, going so far as to name the chapter after him.
> 
> Originally I was going to break out Arthur returning to the ranch as a separate scene and narrate it accordingly, culminating in this big drawn-out speech, but I just could not bring myself to do it. So I employed this super-advanced writing technique where I just… didn’t… And honestly? It probably worked out better this way as a flashback within a conversation.
> 
> It was also hard nailing that very specific, “getting home from vacation super late at night and just wanting to go right to sleep” vibe, and I don’t think I did it well, but in my defense I haven’t been on a vacation myself in… *looks at the calendar and cries*
> 
> So this may seem like a concise and logical ending point, but we still have two chapters left, and I hope you stick around for the ending I have planned. Also (this is gonna come off super-pretentious, but I’m gonna ask anyway), I’ve started drafting up my final entry where I’m going to give my own personal thoughts on this work, what I learned from it, what I would do differently if I were to write it again, etc. If you have any questions about the work as a whole or any unresolved plot points you noticed or critiques or whatever, let me know and I’ll try to include it in the debrief, which will appear as “Chapter” 28, even though 27 will be the final chapter of actual content.


	26. Long Time No See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scenes from the year 1905.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _It_ **took** me _nine_ **months** to _realize_ **you** can _format_ **chapter** notes _because_ **I'm** a _**dumb-dumb.**_
> 
> I cannot for the life of me remember who said it or where I saw it or even the exact quote, but I remember reading an excerpt of an interview with some semi-famous author who said something to the effect of: “Once the story is over, stop writing. There’s no reason to continue writing after that because the audience doesn’t care what happens after the plot finishes, and if they do, they’ll just imagine it for themselves.”
> 
> My official response to that is: “No.”

_ 1/7/05 _

_ Just when you think you know someone… _

_ [Sketch of Albert in profile, holding and aiming a repeater to the left.] _

* * *

A fresh snowfall was a blank canvas. Lain over the world, its purity begged to be painted upon and somehow be turned into something else in doing so. Everything could feel stilled and muffled the morning after a winter storm, but perhaps it was  _ because _ of that inaction one felt compelled to alter the space. The local fauna had already had their chance to leave their mark that morning, and Albert always found it amusing how close some animal tracks came to their house.

_ BANG _

Not that there were any animals around for miles at the moment.

Yet another gunshot split their ears almost as sharply as the bullet had split the stump and sent wooden splinters showering in a wake behind it. There wasn’t going to  _ be _ much of a stump left at this rate, and the three glass bottles posed on top of it continued to silently taunt Albert, unmoved.

Arthur uncrossed his arms to rub at his eyes with a free hand.

“Just hit  _ one _ of ‘em, Al…”

Albert primed the lever of the repeater with more gusto than was necessary, not realizing he was doing so. “Don’t you think I’m  _ trying _ to do that? Do you think I  _ enjoy _ being out here like this? I can scarcely feel my fingers anymore.”

“I think you’re wastin’ all my damn bullets just to be spiteful.”

Lowering the firearm to waist-level, Albert turned to the man at his left. “Again, I don’t really see the need for this; we both know I’m a better shot with a pistol than a long-arm like this.”

“I don’t know that you’re  _ better _ so much as you can get real lucky with that one gun,” Arthur contested. “But I don’t want to have another Eddie situation where you can’t even defend yourself with a gun like that.”

“But why are we doing this  _ now?” _

“‘Cause you’ve been draggin’ your feet makin’ excuses for weeks and I’m tired of it. Now shoot a damn bottle so we can go inside!”

_ Inside. _ Now that was an inviting thought. Albert wanted nothing more than to get the fireplace roaring, set up a stew to simmer for a few hours to get the house warmed up, and curl up on the couch with a good book and a dog at his feet. It was enough to motivate him from biting back with some nasty comment that would only serve to lengthen their time out there.

Begrudgingly, he turned to face the mangled stump and pristine glass bottles. Raising the sights back up and ignoring the discomfort in tilting his neck into position yet again, he waited for the condensation from his breath to dissipate and stop obscuring the sight of those damned bottles.

“Alright, you got the form down right, just relax. Ease into it.”

“I know.”

“Watch your breathin’-“

_ “I. Know.” _

_ “Do _ you?,” Arthur testily shot back. “‘Cause we’ve been out here damn near an hour already and you haven’t even come close.”

Albert again tightened his grip on the firearm harder than was necessary. His rising temper was almost enough to ignore the water that had seeped through both his boots and socks. It was enough to forget about the persistent chill that invaded the back of his neck and the fact that he regretted not bringing a hat out here. Lily had long since been returned inside to spare her paws from the cold ground, and Albert now found himself in the unfortunate position of envying a dog.

“Just…  _ focus.” _

The word gave Albert an interesting idea that he was surprised took so long to cross his mind.

“I’ll show you  _ focus…,” _ he muttered into the frame of the repeater.

“What’re you mumblin’ over there?,” Arthur asked from the side. He never got a verbal response.

Albert exhaled.

Even with the temporary cloud of breath in front of his face he could see those three bottles perched perfectly on their makeshift pedestal, somehow seeming proud of the time and warmth they had robbed him of. With the aid of that mysterious honeyed filter, he imagined a red dot centered on each of those inanimate enemies and felt his body ease itself this way and that, ever so slightly to correct and realign his aim.

_ BANG _

Lever prime.

_ BANG _

Lever prime.

_ BANG _

A rush of sound and blood accosted Albert’s head as the rest of the world caught up with his perception. He physically needed to take a step back to steady himself as he lowered the tip of the repeater into the snow at his side and pressed against his flaring temples with his left hand. When he could finally control his grimace he panned to the left to catch Arthur’s reaction.

_ Oh, _ how satisfying it was to finally erase that smug attitude…

When Arthur’s bottom jaw finally decided to reacquaint itself with the top, all he could manage was, “What the hell was  _ that?!” _

“That was me finally doing what you asked. Go on, tell me I did that wrong as well. I dare you.”

Failing to come up with a valid criticism, Arthur instead trudged through the knee-deep snow over to the stump to inspect the glass carnage. Albert spent those silent moments continuing to massage the pain that usually abated by now. In the past there had always been a slight discomfort whenever he Focused right before timing a photograph, but it never lingered around for this long. The only other instance he could think of was that situation with Milton.

_ Does it have something to do with the gun? _

By the time he could blink away the last vestiges of pain, Albert looked up to find a concerned Arthur studying him from over by the stump.

“You alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Albert dismissed.

“Why’re you holdin’ your head?”

“I have a headache.”

“All of a sudden?,” Arthur doubted.

“A side effect from inane questions.” Seeing Arthur’s unconvinced frown, Albert continued with a sigh and casual tone, “It’s nothing, it always happens after I focus too hard, they just don’t usually last for this long.”

For some reason, that earned him the most worried and curious expression he’d ever seen Arthur direct at anyone.

“Focus like… like you can actually see things different?”

Albert drew the repeater up from the ground and handed it over to Arthur, who approached and took it. “Well, yes, colors change, even sounds change, you know how it is. I can move faster, I just have to be cognizant of my breathing is all.”

Arthur took a moment to inspect the weapon, probably still trying to convince himself this wasn’t an elaborate ruse being played on him, when he all but flinched upon absorbing his husband’s words. “You can  _ do _ that?”

“Everyone can do it, Arthur, don’t be dense,” Albert deadpanned. But Arthur’s gently shaking head and creased brows began to give him pause.

“That ain’t true. Hell, I’ve only ever known two other men that can do that, but now you’re tellin’ me…” He cut himself off to turn back to the stump, apparently struggling to accept what Albert thought was a completely mundane skill, but the proof was there in the snow just a few feet away.

“How do you think I time all my photographs so accurately?,” he jested, trying to bring levity to a conversation that was making him increasingly uncomfortable.

Arthur turned back to face him. “When you shot Milton…?” He left the end of the question unsaid, but Albert nodded anyway.

“I did it then, yes.”

“... and Painted Sky?”

Albert glanced down at his feet in shame.

“No, that time I was genuinely trying to shoot you, I’m afraid.” His forced chuckle hung in the air alone, then sank like a stone into the snow when Arthur didn’t join in with his own.

“Huh…”

A short silence stretched out as Arthur turned back to look at the stump one more time, but as far as Albert was concerned, they were finished out here.

“Well you have fun freezing your digits off, I’ll be inside if you need me.”

With that, he promptly turned to re-enter the house with the intent of changing into dry, warm clothes, now unsure if he passed Arthur’s little test or not. For his part, the man mumbled an absent-minded ‘sure’ without so much as turning around, but Albert thought he caught a whisper that sounded something like,  _ “Wait’ll John hears about this…” _

* * *

_ 4/29/05 _

_ Miss Bonnie’s got an excellent memory, to my dismay. I suppose that’s what I get for making big promises. At least Albert’s getting along with her boys. _

_ [Sketch of Albert and other men working on a wooden frame.] _

* * *

Bonnie placed the last piece on the table with a hard and final  _ clack. _

“Domino.”

_ “God _ dammit,” Arthur groaned, staring at the three remaining pieces on his rack. Usually there were a lot more left at this point, but he should’ve known better than to actually think he’d win a game for once.

“I figured you threw the first game just to be nice, but three more times? Now you’re just insulting me,” she teased.

“I weren’t throwin’ those games! Come on, one more?,” he pleaded. But Bonnie smiled and shook her head as she began sweeping the pieces back into their case.

“We’ve wasted enough time, Arthur. This break wasn’t even supposed to last this long. And look, you’re making your poor cousin do all your hard work for you.”

She didn’t need to look behind her to know that that was true. Seated at the small table on the front porch Bonnie had set out for them, Arthur could see Albert and a few of Bonnie’s hands hard at work in the midday sun. The burned remains of the former guest house were mostly cleared at this point, but they’d waited for fairer weather before agreeing to come back to help erect a new one.

When he bent over to grab some more nails from a box on the ground, one of the ranch hands behind Albert wolf-whistled loudly. He immediately shot up and wheeled around to scold his harasser, but was unsure which of the three laughing younger men had done it. Instead he simply leveled the most unamused expression he could muster at all of them.

“Yeah, I should probably get back over there before he gets into it with one of your boys.”

Bonnie closed the clasp on the domino box and batted a hand at the air. “Oh don’t mind them; that’s just a silly whistle they all do at each other. I don’t why; I think it just means they like him.”

_ More than you might think. _

Holding the comment to himself, Arthur rose from the chair and ambled down the steps to let Bonnie return the game set to wherever it belonged inside the house. In the meantime, he aimed to stretch out this break just a touch longer by meandering innocently over by Albert thumbs hooked through his belt loops.

The photographer shot Arthur a mean look when he noticed someone standing over him, then softened his expression when he realized who it was. “Oh. Thought you were someone else.”

“You playin’ nice with Bonnie’s boys?” Albert rose from his squat and leaned in close to whisper, his temper clearly written on his face.

“I am  _ at my limit _ with these ‘boys.’ And that’s a fitting word for them too; all they do is tease me.”

“I think they’re flirtin’ with you.”

“Of course they’re flirting! But I don’t know how to tell them I’m spoken for without tipping Bonnie off.” He paused to wipe the sweat from his brow unceremoniously with the back of his forearm and sighed. “Here I thought I was past my prime, and now I have men literally throwing themselves at me.”

“Can’t say I blame ‘em. There’s something attractive with this mature look you’ve got goin’ on.” He reached out to playfully stroke the part of Albert’s beard that had the most grays, and instantly had his hand slapped away before he could get there.

“Don’t you go encouraging them,  _ dear cousin,” _ Albert spat back using the fake title. It was always a reliable technique to kill the mood, and this time was no different. Letting Albert lower himself down to the frame on the ground to get back to work, Arthur walked back over to meet Bonnie halfway as she left the front yard.

“Hope you haven’t needed a guest house while you didn’t have one.”

“No, things finally quieted down around here over the winter after you boys left. No more late-night travelers with fresh bullets in ‘em begging for a place to stay.” There was a slight edge in her delivery, but Arthur caught her winking playfully and relaxed.

“Any Mercer Boys?,” he asked in a low tone. Surprisingly, Bonnie’s smirk didn’t waver.

“Not at all. Heard they’re still out there, but they stick closer to their little fort now. They know better than to come by my way anymore.”

“Just wish it didn’t take so much blood for them to learn that.”

“We’ve all got regrets, Arthur…” Bonnie’s voice and attention trailed off to elsewhere for a beat before returning, determined not to kill the mood. “Hell, I bet you’re gonna regret promising me  _ two _ guest houses - don’t think I forgot that!”

“I  _ did _ say that, didn’t I?,” Arthur lamented with a weak smile despite himself.

“That you did. Can’t wait to celebrate with you once you finish ‘em.” 

Bonnie may have provided the materials and freed up some of her men to help out, but the bulk of the work would fall on Arthur’s shoulders and Albert's knowledge of carpentry. By Arthur’s estimation it was a small price to pay for all the help Bonnie had graciously given them during those hectic few weeks last year. As they approached one of the workbenches set next to the current frame that was being worked on, Bonnie snatched a hammer off the table and expectantly offered it to Arthur.

“Have you  _ seen _ me swing a hammer?,” he griped as he took the tool from her.

“Sure have. Still gets a laugh outta me each time. You know I’d say you were some kind of traveling comedian if I didn’t know better.”

“You  _ do _ know better though.” Begrudgingly, Arthur snatched a few nails from a box and started sizing up the frame, trying to remember where he’d left off earlier. The whole time, Bonnie had stood just out of his field of vision, silent. He figured he made her uncomfortable or that she was going to leave to find something else to do, but she surprised him when she continued.

“I know what you’ve told me,” she said softly. “I know that you weren’t always the man standing before me, but you are now. And I think  _ that’s _ what matters.”

Careful not to destroy his thumb on the first swing, Arthur kept his eyes trained on his hands as he got to setting a fresh nail. “That’s awfully kind of you.”

“It’s awfully  _ pragmatic _ of me. Hell, look at my boys. They all come from broken homes and the ones that still have families don’t talk to them, but that’s none of my business. Maybe they were all criminals at one point or another, but that don’t matter to me as long as Amos says they’re okay and they put in the work.”

The suggestion that Bonnie’s workers, all unwed young men, were potentially criminals reminded Arthur of a very difficult conversation he’d had with Albert in a dark hotel room a long time ago.

_ “What do you mean? You some kind of criminal yourself?” _

_ “Depends on who you ask,” _ was Albert’s wistful response.

Just about every man on that ranch at that moment was guilty of the victimless crime of loving the wrong kind of person, but if Bonnie hadn’t figured that out by now, Arthur wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. Instead he pressed on with, “Where is that crotchety old man anyway?”

“He ran into town to grab some things.” When she caught Arthur’s flash of concern, she reassured, “He didn’t go alone, and he’s done it a few times since then. He’s not gonna run into any trouble.”

“That’s good. Don’t think I could pull that ‘wannabe new recruit’ trick a second time.”

“If you ask me, a crooked and bad man wouldn’t have even done it the  _ first _ time.”

“Maybe not. But a smart man wouldn’t’ve either.”

“Good thing you’re none of those things then.”

He traded grins with Bonnie at that - his, reluctant and hers, playful - before trying to get back to setting this first nail.

“I’ll let you get back to it then. You boys heading out again after dinner tonight?”

Just as he was about to finally swing his hammer down, Arthur froze.

“Noticed that, did you?” He tried keeping his voice flat, masking any undertone of guilt that may have bubbled up.

Bonnie seemed unbothered. “Amos mentioned he saw you two leave for a bit once the sun set, but you were back before too long. Figured you just went out for a ride.”

At face value, that was the truth; Arthur and Albert  _ had _ left the ranch the previous evening, but apparently they weren’t as sly as they thought if they were noticed. They’d arrived just short of a week earlier and had been hard at work building the first of two new structures Bonnie was promised, retiring in her guest room each night after continually assuring her that the single bed was enough for the both of them.

Though she may have known that they had left, she seemingly didn’t know the  _ why, _ or at least was holding her cards close to her chest. By Arthur’s estimate, she didn’t know that he’d secretly swiped some spare materials to create a makeshift cross. Didn’t know he’d traveled the short distance to a specific tree where a specific, unfortunate scene had played out. Didn’t know how they’d held a quiet and awkward ‘ceremony’ in the dark before deciding Eddie was paid his proper dues and returning back to the ranch under cover of night.

And frankly, she didn’t need to know.

“Somethin’ like that…,” was all Arthur offered.

Satisfied, Bonnie pushed off the fence she had been leaning against and began to leave. “Figured as much. Let me know next time you head out; even  _ I _ need a break from this place from time to time.”

“I will keep that in mind,” he chuckled, right before losing focus and driving the head of the hammer directly down upon his left thumb with a shout.

* * *

_ 8/2/05 _

_ Finally wrangled everyone together this year to visit Dutch and Hosea. Even managed to rope some of them back to the house. It was nice seeing everyone in one place again. _

_ [Sketch of a bar with multiple featureless figures huddled around it.] _

* * *

With the forward-facing eyes of the predator, Lily trained her gaze at the floor expectantly, waiting for her next morsel to materialize.

“When was the last time you actually dropped something on the ground?”

Albert tore his eyes away from the meal he was preparing at the counter, confused, then panned down to the dog at his feet. “Never on purpose, but sometimes it just happens. I guess she just picked up the habit on her own.”

“Maybe you should give her something before she wastes away on us.”

_ “‘Wastes away’...,” _ Albert scoffed, getting back to work. “Aren’t you the one that’s always accusing me of fattening her up? What are you even doing up here right now?”

Arthur spun in place to rest the small of his back against the counter as he inspected Albert’s preparations. “Came to check on you. The others wanna know what you’re up to.”

“Tell them I’ll be down once I get this simmering. I’m making gumbo, Saint Denis style.” With a flourish, Albert lifted the wooden tray of sliced celery and scraped it into a large metal pot before sprinkling a generous helping of some distinct seasoning over its contents.

“Thought I smelled that.”

Albert set the tray back down and got to work on an onion with a fake sigh. “It was always Hannah’s favorite dish…”

“Your imaginary wife?”

“My  _ dead _ imaginary wife. And I should throttle you for mocking her,” he threatened with the pointed end of the knife before setting back to dicing. “Poor woman died of pneumonia you know.”

“Thought it was cholera?” As he peered into the pot and debated plucking out a piece of bell pepper to nibble on, Arthur received a swift hip-check for the absent-minded comment.

“Get  _ out _ of my kitchen!” Albert’s laughter betrayed the severity of his message, but Arthur relented anyway.

“Oh, you hear that Lily? It’s  _ his _ kitchen.” The dog didn’t respond beyond wagging her tail and searching the floor more intensely, hoping that something had fallen from the counter in the commotion.

“Show me on the deed where your name is, then we’ll talk.”

It was a favorite insult that Albert enjoyed trotting out from time to time, but Arthur let it slide. Instead, he passed through the door exiting the kitchen and into the side stairwell chamber that led into the basement. The last remnants of his own laughter drained away from him at the sight before him.

Even now, he paused at the top of the stairs, imagining them descending into some hellish scene below. He blinked away horrible images and fears from  _ that _ cellar, knowing full well he would find no Edmund Lowry Jr. underneath the house but hating that he still had the hang-up whenever he had to go down there all these months later. On the contrary, he could hear the sounds and voices of his friends awaiting him.

Not ten seconds later, Arthur pushed through another set of doors and entered into the old moonshine bar that the previous owners had graciously built and left behind before the revenue agents ran them out of town. It was dimly lit, but in a way that was more inviting than threatening, and the cool air against his skin was just as welcoming. He was met with a small chorus of acknowledgment as he surveyed the room.

To the far left, it seemed Nate had finally relinquished control of the piano to let Abigail have a go at it. Uncle and Jack danced to the upbeat tune she was banging out while John - still favoring his left side, Arthur was saddened to note - watched on from a chair at Abigail’s side. The brothers gave each other a nod when they made eye contact.

More to the center, the doctor was seated at a table and engaged in a conversation with Miss Grimshaw of all people, who winked at Arthur as he passed them by.

“Back in the day - oh this must have been six or seven years ago now - this was  _ the _ place to be,” Nate explained. “Hell, I even made the trip from Armadillo a few times; Maggie’s ‘shine was  _ that _ good.”

“Maggie? As in Maggie Fike?,” Susan asked.

“Oh, have you heard of her?”

“Heard of her? Hell, I  _ knew _ her.”

Never one to turn down a new story, Nate drew his chair in closer and leaned over his bottle. “Truly? I never got a chance to speak with her and I’m pretty sure she hired a mute to serve us drinks down here. What was she like?”

“Well keep in mind, this was back before the fire, when she still had her full face…”

Though Arthur himself was curious to learn more about the previous owner of his home, his attention was drawn to the far right, as much as he tried to hide it. Bill had his back turned to him and had Javier about as pinned to the wall as he could without actually laying a hand on the shorter man, but Javier seemed largely unbothered. Unable to make out what they were talking about, Arthur walked forward and joined Charles leaning against the bar as Sadie pulled up a drink for him from the other side.

“You two keepin’ an eye on them?,” he asked as he opened the new bottle. Charles huffed and worked his jaw, like he was trying and failing to hold back a smirk.

“They’re playing nice. For now.”

“And when they don’t?”

“My money’s on Javier.”

Arthur panned over to Sadie with a pleading look, and she rolled her eyes.

“I won’t let it come to that. They’re both afraid of me anyway.”

“That ain’t sayin’ much. Hell,  _ I’m _ afraid of you and I’m your friend.”

She shoved Arthur’s arm playfully as he tried taking a swig. “Oh stop.”

A comfortable lull followed as the three of them took turns sneaking glances at Bill and Javier, continuing to speak too low to be eavesdropped upon, but at least hadn’t come to blows between them -  _ yet. _ As Abigail started up a new, slower song, Charles spoke again. “Al mentioned you two were taking a trip soon?”

Arthur ducked his head down and feigned interest in the bottle in his hands, suddenly feeling evasive.

_ Didn’t think he was gonna tell anyone. _

“Yeah, headed northwest. Oregon.”

“They got tornadoes up in Oregon?,” Sadie quipped and Arthur seized on the change of topic.

_ “No, _ thankfully…”

“How’s that project going?,” Charles asked. Arthur chuckled and shook his head.

“I swear, I never met a man with a death wish so bad but  _ didn’t _ turn to crime.”

“Albert’s  _ kind of _ a criminal,” Sadie pointed out. “I mean the money he bought this place with wasn’t exactly clean, unless he had enough saved up from taking pictures.”

“I ain’t so sure photographers make that much at all. He took a loan from Strauss for crissakes.”

Charles seemed surprised. “Albert was one of Strauss’ debtors?”

“I never told you about this?”

The story was interrupted before it could even begin by the sound of glass shattering against the floor to Arthur’s right.

_ Oh, here we go… _

Fully intending to have to break up a fight in his own house before they wrecked the place, Arthur pushed off from the counter. “Alright, fellers, why don’t you-”

‘Take it outside’ died at the back of his throat at the unexpected sight. It seemed Bill had dropped his bottle in his haste to pull Javier into a deep, crushing hug.

“There you go, let it out, brother.” Javier pat Bill on the back a few times as the taller man appeared to be wracking with silent sobs. When he made eye contact with Arthur, Javier simply gave him a thumbs up behind Bill’s back.

Sadie snickered as she relaxed her stance behind the counter again. “So much for your bet, Charles…”

“Night’s still young,” he shrugged back.

When the two former friends parted, they exchanged a few more quiet words before Bill began making for the exit, keeping his head low and not looking at anyone. He failed to evade Nate’s notice however.

“Are you alright, Ben?”

“‘M fine, just need some fresh air,” he mumbled before passing through the doors and audibly stomping up the stairs. Nate, confused, looked to Javier with suspicion, then to Arthur for guidance.

“Nature calls?,” he offered with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and for some reason Nate bought it. The doctor nodded, wet his lips and turned back to Susan to resume where they left off.

“That’s fascinating, I had no idea Miss Fike was such a skilled sharpshooter.”

“I wasn’t there for that one, so she might’ve been stretching the truth, but who knows? Her sister was the Black Belle after all, maybe it ran in the family.”

Arthur tried remembering where he heard that name before, but came up with nothing. Nate, however, reeled back in his chair. “They were  _ sisters?” _

_ “Oh _ yeah,” Susan chuckled. “Here, I’ll tell you another one…”

Arthur was almost tempted to leave his spot and pull up a chair next to Susan, surprised that she still had some stories under her belt he hadn’t heard after all these years. But the new presence at his side gave him pause, and he turned to see Javier asking Sadie for a new drink.

“Sorry about the glass, Arthur,” he apologized.

“Don’t matter to me, just glad he didn’t smash it over your head.”

“Almost came to that at one point…”

As he took a deep pull from the bottle, Sadie asked, “What the hell  _ was _ that?” Javier swallowed and swirled the bottle around in his grip for a few seconds, unsure of how to respond.

“We just talked,” he said, as if the entire caravan of former Van der Lindes hadn’t noticed the two ment keeping a comical distance from each other the past three days.

“‘Bout what?”

Javier shrugged. “Everything. We’d been writing over the past few months, but this was the first time I’d gotten to speak with him since…”

No one wanted to be the one to say it.  _ Since you left him choking for air in Thieves’ Landing. Since you tricked him into a trap. _ Arthur powered through the awkward pause and prompted, “...and?”

“And I think… I think we’re good now. Think he finally realizes I didn’t abandon him on that mountain. And we talked about that whole mess with the Pinkertons, but I think he’s still mad about that.”

_ Can’t say I blame him. _ “Probably best not to mention it again, no.”

“And I won’t. But I just wanted to clear the air with him. It doesn’t feel good to be fighting with friends and… I missed…  _ this.” _ Suddenly, Javier had to clear the back of his throat, and masked whatever else he didn’t trust himself to blurt out with another long swig from his bottle.

“We missed you too, Jav.”

Conversation flowed easily from that point, and Charles soon rounded back to the earlier topic. “So you were saying that Albert was one of Strauss’ debtors once? I feel like if you roughed him up and took his money, we would’ve heard about that by now.”

Arthur’s mind went back to a memory of a clear summer day with a herd of bison that got too close for comfort and a big wad of cash. He sighed.

“That ain’t exactly what happened…”

* * *

_ 9/21/05 _

_ Heading northwest again for the first time in a long time. Maybe the last time, who knows. You’d think I’d be an expert at saying goodbyes by now, but it never gets easier. _

* * *

“I never thought I’d ever make it this far west. Isn’t it fascinating how far a simple train ride over a few days can take us?”

Hardly anyone else got off the train with Arthur and Albert at this stop, and that wasn’t surprising. A quick skim over the town before them showed that it had barely grown at all since Arthur was last here; even Valentine had more buildings at this point.

“I mean, could you imagine making that trip on horseback alone? And with a carriage and family and all your worldly possessions in tow? I don’t know how the pioneers did it. They didn’t even have  _ maps.” _

Albert flinched as the shrieking train whistle surprised him, but he managed to maintain his grip on the suitcases at his sides. As the hundred tons of steel behind them began to move again, on to the next stop, Arthur walked off the platform without a word, down the main avenue that bisected the town.

Following after, and waiting for the noise of the train to die down enough to be heard, Albert continued, “I know we’re making enough detours as it is already, but I was wondering what you thought about going all the way to the coast? It’d be a shame to come this far and not see the Pacific with our own eyes, don’t you think?”

The foot traffic was light, and just the typical head nods and “Good morning”s were exchanged with passerby, which was more welcome than outright suspicion towards the outsiders. Were it not for the different faces and the occasional house that was graced with a fresh coat of paint, Arthur would’ve had trouble telling that any time at all had passed since his last visit some two decades ago.

He stopped at the corner of a smaller street that intersected the main avenue. Still barely a cart-width wide. Still the run-down and destitute part of a run-down and destitute town.

Albert all but walked right into Arthur’s back, who remained unmoved, staring down the smaller street. The photographer followed his gaze and understood immediately.

“This is it.” More of a statement than a question.

Arthur swallowed and nodded.

“That yellow house. Third on the right.”

Albert wasn’t sure what to say for a moment; Arthur had warned him this would happen on their trip, but hadn’t mentioned the town by name.

“Would you like me to come with you?”

For the first time since stepping off the train, Arthur looked at his husband.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’d be easier if you didn’t.”

“I understand completely,” he yielded.

Arthur wasn’t sure that he did, but wasn’t sure if he wanted him to either.

“Well, here, this is the least I could do.” Albert stepped forward and grabbed Arthur’s suitcase, awkwardly shuffling them around to carry the three of them. “I can go secure lodging for the evening; I don’t think the next train comes through until tomorrow.”

“Probably not,” he agreed. Just because the town had a train stop didn’t mean most of the trains that took the rail line actually used it; most just rambled on past the small unnoteworthy settlement.

Albert straightened his posture, confident he could manage carrying all their luggage. He gave that quick glance entirely around their surroundings that Arthur knew all too well before speaking softly.

“I love you, Arthur.”

“Love you too, Al.”

And that was it. Just a quiet confession only they could hear. If any old mothers with nothing better to do than sit at the window and people-watch all day were looking at them at that point, they would only see two men talking before parting ways. It was safer that way.

At full volume, “I’ll see you later then.” He turned and made it a few feet before Arthur called out to him.

“Hey, Al… there’s a saloon on the main road, Cafferty’s… I’d like to avoid that one.”

_ Too many memories there. _

Albert nodded, “I’ll see what I can do. Take as much time as you need.”

Now alone, Arthur supposed it was time to do the damned thing already. The thing he’d cautiously asked to take a personal detour to this specific town for. They’d both convinced themselves that the overall purpose of this trip was to visit some new national park in the northwest Albert wanted to see, but in truth they knew what this journey was.

Arthur ignored the fact that his heart was pounding in anticipation like he’d done so many times before. But rather than stepping out into a firefight or some other act of violence, this was a wholly different kind of apprehension. An ironic kind, considering there was no real threat at all.

The few times he told the story, he’d always mentioned the two crosses being in front of the house because it was easier to explain it that way. In fact, they were at the back of the house, but Arthur had usually approached from the rear to avoid being seen by neighbors or lawmen. Quickly casing the yellowed house from the street it appeared like it was still lived in and not outright abandoned, but the current owners didn’t appear to be home.

Arthur slipped through the narrow alleyway between houses and exited into the small backyard, still delineated with a short stone wall rather than a proper fence. Somehow it was both a mixture of relief and fear that flooded his chest at the sight of the crosses. Relief, because they were still there after all these years; fear, because of the finality of it all. As much as he groused at digs at his age, Arthur wasn’t stupid enough to think he’d be able to take long, expensive and exhausting journeys forever.

There was a very real possibility he’d never make it out this way again.

With reverence he approached the graves and knelt in the space between them before deciding to just sit down cross-legged to spare his joints. He removed his hat, set it on the ground in front of him and got to work gently removing the weeds and vines that had gotten too comfortable around the crosses. They were thoroughly weather-worn at this point and though the names were barely legible on them, Arthur didn’t mind. He’d never forget his family-that-never-was.

When everything was sufficiently pruned to his liking, Arthur took a deep, unsteady breath.

Barely louder than a whisper, “Hey you two… long time no see.”

Arthur tilted his head backwards. Even through eyes that were already getting wet with tears he could still see the bright blue backdrop of the sky behind the sparse clouds. He had plenty of time before it was time to leave on the next train. Before it was time to say goodbye.

“Mind if I talk your ears off for a bit?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t really know where this headcannon came from where Arthur physically speaks aloud to the dead to get closure and work through his grief, but I’ve done it enough times in this series to not do it here as well. I think it makes for a more interesting scene if nothing else.
> 
> Albert, brandishing the claw end of a hammer at one of the ranch hands: Call me ‘daddy’ one more time you stupid twink, watch what happens.
> 
> Wolf-whistling wasn’t really a thing until the 1940’s apparently (the shit you end up researching just for a throwaway line…) but whatever.
> 
> Not to get all _The Secret_ on you, but I started writing this work last spring, when my husband and I were thinking about moving into a new place. Now, less than a year later, we have a new house that has a furnished bar in the basement, so I guess I unintentionally put that energy out into the universe. No piano or moonshine in my basement unfortunately, but I did manage to snag a pool table off the previous owner, haha
> 
> Been seeing some new discussions lately about when exactly Arthur’s relationship with Eliza happened with respect to his past with Mary. The consensus seems to be that Mary came first, and that Eliza was kind of a post-breakup rebound, but I never saw it that way and to my knowledge there isn’t a canonical answer to that. I always got the impression that his experience with Eliza (and consequently Isaac) happened when he was very young, like when they were both teenagers, and that Mary was more in his mid-twenties. I don’t have anything to back that up beyond gut feelings and the fact that teen pregnancies do happen, but that’s what I went with in this work and I’m gonna stick with that interpretation.
> 
> One more chapter! Obviously I’m not introducing a new plot point or anything this late into the work, it’s just going to be more vignettes and tying up loose ends like this, but let me know what you think.


	27. Just For Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final entries of Arthur's journal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Below you will find the final chapter of actual content for this work. In a day or two I was planning on posting a supplemental chapter that details my personal thoughts on writing this work and giving some behind-the-scenes stuff, but obviously that’s an optional read. If this is the last part of this work that you read, I humbly thank you for coming this far and I hope you enjoy.

_ 10/23/06 _

_ Miss her already. _

_ [Sketch of Penny grazing in profile.] _

* * *

He’d seen horses die before.

Dozens of times in fact; unfortunate animals caught in the crossfire of a robbery gone wrong, steeds cut out from underneath pursuing lawmen or bounty hunters, even a few he ‘knew’ personally like Dutch’s first horse or Boadicea. But these were all violent, chaotic ends where it was never safe to linger behind. It was dawning on Arthur that he’d never seen a horse die simply from old age, and that he’d never stuck around to watch the aftermath.

He didn’t expect it to look like  _ this _ though.

The three men - student volunteers from a university apparently - had a devil of a time getting Penny’s body from the stable on the side of the house into the empty cart they’d brought with them. It was such a ramshackle affair it would have been comical were it not so sad. Arthur would have offered to help if he didn't believe the arm he had slung over Albert’s shoulders wasn’t the only thing literally holding the man together as they watched the scene play out.

Eventually - mercifully - the workers got her in position in the back of the wagon with her head towards the rear. They began opening the large metal chests affixed to the sides and placing large bags of ice on top of her body to pack her in place and presumably some other reason Arthur didn’t understand. Once that was finished, they openly tried to catch their breath and take a brief, well-earned break before heading out.

Albert stepped forward, out from under Arthur’s supporting hold, and spoke up. “Gentlemen, could I… could I have a quick moment alone? Please?”

The pain, the  _ grief _ that was plainly audible in Albert’s voice was gut-wrenching and almost enough to make Arthur lose his own barely-maintained composure. The workers kept things professional however, and yielded without any reaction, stepping over to the side. They were likely just happy to extend their impromptu break.

As Albert approached the rear of the cart and began quietly using that high-pitched voice he only used when speaking with Penny, Arthur knew he had to turn away and tune out the sound or risk breaking down himself. Instead, he gruffly cleared his throat and ambled over to the three workers, digging out his money clip and counting out some bills.

“Here fellers, for your trouble.” He offered twelve dollars to the men, who instantly began politely refusing.

“Oh, there’s no need for that, sir. Really, we should be thanking  _ you. _ It’s surprisingly rare to get donations, you see.”

He didn’t outright put the money away, but he did lower his hand a bit. “Where  _ are _ you takin’ her?,” Arthur asked.

“Lemoyne State University, in Saint Denis. Her body will be studied and will further the education of the next generation of veterinarians.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s a fairly new institution,” one of the young men explained defensively.

“That’s a hell of a ride from here. Horses don’t die in the city?,” Arthur asked.

“They do, but most folk just bring them to the stables, who sell the bodies to the factories to do who knows what to them. We can’t compete with the factory owners, so we mostly rely on donations.”

“Your school doesn’t have the money to buy a single dead horse?” He was genuinely curious, but it came out more callous than he intended and seemed to have struck a nerve judging by their soured reactions.

“It’s a new institution…,” another student muttered.

Feeling worse for failing to even handle small talk, Arthur offered the money again. “Well I hope you’re planning on takin’ the ferry from Blackwater instead of ridin’ the whole way. Here.”

Second time was the charm as one of the students stepped forward and took the tip. “That  _ would _ save us a considerable amount of time. Thank you, sir. Maybe we’ll treat ourselves to a few drinks when we get back, give a toast to ol’ Penny here.”

Toasting a horse was a silly idea to Arthur, least of all such a docile and unflappable one as Penny. But he found he didn’t hate the idea once he entertained it.

“Gentleman, I’m… I’m ready,” Albert announced, sounding anything but. The students, maybe used to a whole range of emotional reactions from their ‘donors’, quickly exchanged cordial thanks and goodbyes before setting out on their way.

As the cart pulled away and onto the nearest road, Ivy grew audibly unsettled in the stable, confused, and Lily started barking again from the window indoors. But Arthur could pay them no mind in that moment. He was watching Albert, who in turn was watching the cart slink into the distance from the edge of their property. Carefully, he approached the photographer from behind and placed an exploratory hand on the man’s shoulder.

And Albert collapsed. Arthur followed soon after.

Now alone, in front of their little home perched at the edge of the woods, barely more than a stone’s throw away from the Great Plains of West Elizabeth, two men openly mourned a part of their family that had just been permanently taken away. The fact that her passing was both peaceful and would serve a purpose did not lighten the loss any.

It was several minutes before Arthur was able to get up off his knees first, and wordlessly suggest that they return to the porch. With ragged breaths they sat on that wooden bench that had overheard hundreds of conversations over the years, both serious and benign. Somehow it seemed fitting that it would bear witness to another memorable moment of their lives.

“You know…,” Arthur started. He stopped, surprised at how tight his own voice sounded, and cleared his throat in vain before continuing. “Considerin’ how old she was when you got her, it’s kinda surprisin’ she lasted as long as she did.” A single pained and involuntary laugh escaped Albert at that.

“Had I known how long horses were supposed to live, maybe I would’ve thought twice before buying her, but she was just so  _ sweet.” _

“She was,” Arthur agreed fondly. “Not exactly the kinda horse you want to outrun a storm with though.” Albert managed to form a fragile smile through his tears, still looking down the road that led to Blackwater.

“No, she definitely took her time. The very ground could be pulling up into the sky and she’d still barely be going faster than I walk on foot.”

“Makes you wonder how she lasted so long,” Arthur mused. Albert gave him a short, tight squeeze on the knee.

“She had a good home.”

“She had a good owner,” he corrected.

Emotion robbed Albert of whatever words he intended to follow up with. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and still tears managed to fall freely despite that. Arthur pulled him into a close side hug on that bench, not caring about the mess they both were making of themselves. A few seconds after Albert’s sharp breaths subsided, he spoke into his husband’s chest.

“You know, in a roundabout way,  _ you _ were her owner, seeing as you paid for her.”

Arthur released his grip so they could adjust back to normal sitting positions. “How do you figure?”

Dabbing at his eyes, Albert explained, “Well I bought her with the money Strauss loaned me.”

“You paid  _ two hundred fifty dollars _ for Penny?”

“No! I… I paid  _ one _ hundred and fifty dollars for her.”

That was still a steeper price than Arthur would’ve assumed, but he’d also never actually paid for a horse; he’d always opted to steal or break in a wild one.

“I just kinda assumed you came down with her from New York,” he admitted.

“God no, that would’ve required a level of foresight I didn’t possess back then... No, I took a train from Saint Denis to Valentine and tried renting a horse for my first-“

“You tried to  _ rent _ a horse?,” Arthur interrupted.

“Let’s not act surprised at how naive I was back then, shall we?,” Albert shot back in an attempt to defend himself. He continued, “Predictably the stable master told me to get lost unless I was planning to buy one, so I asked to see the cheapest animal he had for sale and… there she was. I didn’t have nearly enough for her however, so he sent me down to Smithfield’s where a man with a German accent was giving out small loans.”

_ “‘Small loans’… _ I saw Strauss’ ledger; you were his biggest loan at the time.”

“And that loan was paid off when it came due, wasn’t it?,” Albert pointed out. Even in spite of being an emotional wreck, he managed a subtle smile that was a touch more smug than Arthur cared for. “So that’s why you could technically claim ownership just as much as I can.”

“I won’t take that from you. She was your girl.”

Albert nodded and looked up and away, an obvious attempt to stave off more tears. He sighed and frowned. “She was... And as callous I feel for thinking about it... I suppose I should start thinking about a replacement.”

“Think my days of wranglin’ and breakin’ in wild stallions are behind me,” Arthur reminded.

“And I wouldn’t allow you to try it,” Albert instantly replied.

“Maybe Bonnie could give us a good deal on one. Have anything in mind for what you’re lookin’ for?”

Somehow, in spite of all the emotional turmoil they went through over the past hour, a smile tugged at the corner of Albert’s mouth.

“Well you know about my preference for riding Morgans...”

He turned to his left to meet Arthur’s tear-streaked-yet-unamused face.

“Watch yourself, Mason.”

* * *

_ 8/1/07 _

_ Had another gallery showing in Saint Denis, this time for all those storm pictures instead of the animals for once. Folk seemed to like them, but I’m worried that it’s just going to spur Albert into chasing more of these tornadoes. At least the storm season has mostly passed. _

_ [Sketch of a framed picture of a tornado resting on an easel.] _

* * *

Standing there, back to the wall with his finest slacks, vest and dress shirt that he actually paid to get ironed for once, Arthur could not look more bored if he tried. He discretely whipped out his pocket watch and internally groaned as he saw they still had another three hours for this particular showing. Some feet away to his right Albert was deeply engrossed in a conversation with an animated patron who seemed more interested in outright buying a specific photograph rather than listening to the photographer wax poetic about the ‘destructive beauty of Mother Nature.’ It seemed Arthur was going to be left to his own devices to entertain himself for the duration of his sentry.

“Well don’t he clean up nice?”

“He does. He almost looks like he belongs here.”

Arthur snapped his pocket watch shut and looked to his left. He was surprised to find Mary and Sadie playfully scrutinizing him and let it show on his face. Mary was unsurprisingly wearing an understated lavender dress that was appropriate for the occasion, but it seemed Sadie had made an effort to clean up as well. She was still wearing pants, but at least she didn’t look like she’d just dropped off the body of a wanted criminal at the local sheriff’s office like she usually did.

Not even fighting back a grin, Arthur opened his arms wide and took Sadie in for a hug. “Ladies. Didn’t know you were gonna be here.”

“It’s a surprise. I wanted to support and catch up with a dear friend of mine,” Mary explained.

“All you had to do was send me a letter. You didn’t have to come all the way out here just for  _ me.” _

Mary lightly slapped at his arm with a smile before coming in for her own hug. “Writing a letter to Albert was the only reason I knew to  _ come _ to this. I’m so excited to talk to him in person though, it’s been too long.”

“Yeah, well get in line.” Mary rolled her eyes at what she took for a joke, but Arthur had to clarify, “No, really; there’s a line to speak to him.”

Mary looked past Arthur and saw indeed there were three other visitors to the showing all patiently waiting for their turn with Albert as the photographer appeared to be getting into an increasingly heated dispute with his current conversational partner.

“I see…”

Sadie stepped in and offered, “In the meantime, why don’t you show us around? I probably seen some of ‘em already, but Mary hasn’t.”

That’s technically exactly what Arthur was there to do, but for once he wouldn’t find himself bothered by the guests he was chaperoning from frame to frame. In total, the showing had seven photographs on display, each with its own harrowing tale behind it he wished he was exaggerating.

As the three of them stood before an easel propping up a large print of a particularly powerful tornado they caught outside Emerald Ranch, Sadie side-eyed Arthur. “We never got storms like that up in Ambarino. They really all that bad?”

Arthur stared into the picture, instantly recalling that warm summer day and how he thought the wind was going to tear the clothes off his very back. The way the photograph was expertly lined up with the funnel of debris perfectly centered and providing a stark contrast with the bright sky in the far distance behind it didn’t accurately portray the chaos of that scene. The fact that the picture was corrected to be upright rather than skewed sideways like the original version had come out seemed disingenuous in itself.

To say nothing of the out-of-frame tree that almost landed on them instantly afterwards. Albert still hadn’t found an adequate replacement for that particular tripod and case.

“They’re worse than you think,” he muttered, still staring into the memory.

“I bet Albert told him to say that to boost ticket sales,” Mary whispered facetiously and the two women chuckled at Arthur’s expense.

When they’d moved two pictures down they found themselves in front of one of the more popular pieces of the showing; one of a bolt of lightning touching down and striking a church’s steeple in the far distance. Albert had spent up to a half-minute Focusing to time that shot just right, and predictably passed out from the subsequent headache, which both angered and worried Arthur at the time.

Casually, Arthur changed the subject and asked, “So I get Mary bein’ here, but what’s brought you in town Mrs. Adler?”

“It’s not good enough that I wanna see my boys?,” she answered defensively.

“Not at all, just figured you’d spare yourself the trouble of gettin’ all fancied up just for this. You know you can swing by the house whenever you like.”

Sadie drew her brows together and looked back at the photograph in front of them, almost evasively.

“Maybe… I ain’t gonna be around these parts much longer to do that, so I wanted to see you boys one last time.”

There was an amount of difficulty in getting the words out that didn’t go unnoticed by Arthur. Gracefully, Mary looked behind them and seemed to notice an opening in the line to speak with Albert and politely excused herself from the conversation. Arthur didn’t look to see if she was telling the truth or not, too fixated on Sadie who curiously refused to meet his eyes. He only spoke when it was the two of them.

“You in trouble? Need to lie low again?,” he asked softly. He hadn’t heard anything noteworthy about the now-defunct O’Driscoll’s ever since Colm was ‘handled,’ but Sadie’s huff and eye roll instantly put aside any of those concerns.

“It ain’t like that.”

“Then what’s it like?”

She worked her jaw in thought.

“I just… I don’t really have a  _ home, _ Arthur. Sure, I got a place up in Big Valley, but that ain’t a  _ home. _ And I’m just tired of the way I’ve been living.”

“You lookin’ to settle down somewhere else?,” he prompted. Sadie nodded.

“Think so. Think it’s time. Can’t keep hunting bounties forever, fun as it is.”

“Where do you think you’ll end up?” She wrinkled her nose and folded her arms across her chest, still feigning interest in the photograph in front of them.

“Ambarino reminds me of my old life, reminds me of Jake… It hurts too much… Sure as hell ain’t gonna end up here in  _ Lemoyne, _ and I’ve garnered enough ill will with every gang from Van Horn to Tumbleweed that I don’t wanna retire anywhere near where someone can come looking for revenge one day.”

It was a concern Arthur had regularly voiced for years now, that some angry young man would end up on his doorstep one day claiming he’d killed his daddy and wanting vengeance. Albert always easily brushed the thought aside, and Arthur had taken it up as a recurring joke at this point, but the worry was always in the back of his mind. He found it curious that Sadie seemed to have the same idea.

“So you’re leavin’ us? Headed east?” Sadie scoffed openly at that.

“Hell no. Going north. Denver. Mary offered me a place to stay with her until I get used to the area. Figured Colorado is similar enough to Ambarino without the bad memories,” she shrugged.

“Mary’s all high society though, I don’t see you fittin’ in with her crowd.”

Sadie grinned and finally turned to look at Arthur, if only halfway. “See that’s where you’re wrong. She’s a good friend, and we’ve kept in touch. But she’s getting into this suffragette business now, and she says some of their protests get pretty rowdy.”

“Now  _ that _ sounds more your speed.”

“Exactly,” she agreed. “Those girls need some muscle if they’re gonna get what they want, and it kinda sends the wrong message if they need to hire men to do that.”

Some patrons signaled that they wanted to inspect the photograph of the lightning bolt that Arthur and Sadie were blocking, so they shuffled to the next one over, a picture of a small shed lifted entirely into the air somewhere east of the Lannahechee Arthur forgot the name of. He chuckled and shook his head as he continued, “I can just see it now: you fist-fightin’ a bunch of gents who have no clue what they’re gettin’ themselves into.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for.  _ ‘Going east.’ _ Could you imagine that? Either of us actually going out that way on purpose?”

The line of guests wanting to speak with Albert must have thinned out because he finally called the two of them over to join his conversation with Mary.

As they walked over, Arthur said to Sadie, “If I ever end up on the east coast you will know I have truly lost my mind.”

* * *

_ 12/4/07 _

_ Now I have truly lost my mind. _

_ [Sketch of a crowned woman raising a torch in one hand and holding a book in the other.] _

* * *

New York wasn’t as bad as Denver.

It was worse.

Colder than a strong wind that was allowed to sprint across miles of open plains before slamming into you. More polluted than Saint Denis on its worst, muggiest days. More crowded than any convention or traveling show Arthur had been to. And despite the rush and hurry that everyone seemed to be in, there was no readily apparent special event coming to town to energize people like the National Symposium had done to Denver. Arthur realized it was just like this  _ all the time. _

Somehow it was worse than Dutch said it could be.

He allowed himself to stare up at a building that was taller than he believed was physically possible when a man callously - or maybe intentionally - slammed into him on the crowded sidewalk. The stranger was already continuing on without any acknowledgement at all before Arthur could respond. Not wanting to see what New York’s prisons were like if this is how the  _ outside _ was, Arthur bit back an insult and quickly checked his pockets. Everything seemed to be in place, small blessing that that was, and he picked up the suitcases again before hurriedly trying to catch up with an oblivious Albert some dozen feet ahead.

“How mad would you be if I dropped off this luggage and went back on the boat?”

Without even glancing over his shoulder, Albert responded, “I’d be upset that you didn’t think to take me with you.” He seemed focused on the tightly-packed rowhouses on their left, at their address numbers specifically. Though his attention was focused elsewhere, there was still some residual instinct of city living that allowed him to weave between the oncoming pedestrian traffic without incident.

“What, you ain’t glad to be back?  _ You’re _ the one that wanted to come up here.”

“I wanted to see my  _ family. _ It’s been years since I’ve last seen them and I know they’re not going to come all the way out west to see me. And need I remind you that  _ you asked _ to come along?”

It  _ had _ been several years since Albert had last returned to New York, and those three months when Arthur had been alone without him were… He didn’t want to go through that again. Which is why he begrudgingly bought those train and boat tickets in pairs.

“Still don’t see why  _ I _ gotta carry all the stuff. Feel like all I do is lug these things around behind you; all I’ll ever do.”

Still looking up at the address numbers, Albert deadpanned, “Careful not to let that boulder flatten you, Sisyphus.”

“What? I ain’t got  _ syphilis.” _

“That’s not what I-... nevermind…” Albert rolled his eyes for some reason and ignored Arthur’s mumbled and empty curses. Then Albert continued, prompting, “Now again, you are…?” Arthur sighed and readjusted his grip on the suitcases.

“I am Arthur Matthews. I am a professional ‘outdoorsman’, which is not a thing by the way-”

“They won’t know that,” Albert readily dismissed.

“I am a professional outdoorsman who you met back in ‘99 in West Elizabeth. You hired me to be your guide for your first photography portfolio, and we’ve had a  _ strictly professional _ workin’ relationship ever since.”

It was a ridiculous story that wouldn’t survive more than a minute of scrutiny, but Albert had insisted on using it and committing it to memory; it wasn’t like their usual alibi of being distant cousins would work with his actual family.  _ “Not unless you have a forged family tree lying around somewhere,” _ Albert had joked. Arthur did not.

Finally they came to a stop at a brick-faced rowhouse that as far as Arthur could tell looked identical to all the others on the block. He noticed Albert was nervously cracking his knuckles as he stared back at the metal  _ 982 _ just up the stairs from where they stood.

“You nervous?,” Arthur asked jokingly. He expected a brusque reassurance, but Albert met his eyes and surprised him.

“I think I am, actually. Not really sure why though.”

After a beat he asked, “Is it ‘cus  _ I’m _ here?” Albert didn’t immediately respond, which was a response in itself, so Arthur followed up with a lowered voice only they could hear, “I can leave if it’s easier. I can go get a hotel room somewhere.”

“No you can’t,” Albert huffed with a brief smile before tugging his eyes away from the ground. “And I want you here. I want them to finally meet you.”

“Do you want them to…  _ know _ about me? About  _ us?” _ There was a lot underlying those questions; there were some pretty big gaps in Arthur’s past he was going to have to creatively explain away if they weren’t going to talk about the gang. And that was to say nothing of why the two of them had been living together for so long, if that was going to come up at all.

Albert briefly grabbed Arthur’s wrist and gave it a gentle squeeze before pulling away again. “I want them to see what I see in you.”

Rather than butt heads and contest that there wasn’t anything worth seeing in Arthur’s character - even if it was in jest at this point - he simply nodded. “Lead the way.”

Albert steeled himself with a deep breath and climbed up the few steps that lead to the front door. He used the brass door knocker to announce their presence and nervously turned around to flash a tight non-smile at Arthur three steps lower than him as they waited.

It wasn’t long before a man opened the door who was slightly older than Arthur but still plainly one of Albert’s brothers, even wore the same style beard. The man regarded Arthur distrustfully at first, but then openly beamed when he noticed his younger brother.

“There he is!” Albert’s response was smothered into the man’s shoulder as he was immediately snatched into a tight hug. When they broke apart, he gestured down to Arthur with his chin. “This the cowboy?,” he asked in a thick New York accent.

Arthur involuntarily narrowed his eyes and worked his jaw.

“Yes, this is my assistant, Arthur. Arthur, my brother James.”

He temporarily set the luggage down on the steps as he climbed up to shake the man’s hand. He immediately took note of how rough and calloused James’ hand was, clearly from a lifetime of hard labor. “You’re the mason Mason?”

It was James’ turn to be irked. He glanced sideways at Albert. “You paid him to say that.” It was jarring to see a man who looked so similar to Albert but sounded and spoke so differently.

“No, he’s just naturally witty like that,” Albert said dryly.

“Oh so he’s like you then? No wonder you get along.” Laughing at his own joke, James turned to Arthur and said, “‘Bout time he met someone that can give it back to him, you know?”

“Oh, he gives it good, but I ain’t afraid to really give it to Al from time to time,” Arthur quipped with a grin. It took a surprising amount of restraint not to wink. Albert shot him a silent, warning glare, but James didn’t seem to notice.

Oblivious, the older brother said, “Come on, we’re freezin’ our asses off out here! Let’s get inside; Ma and Rob are gonna be here in a little bit.” He quickly retreated back inside the house and already Arthur could sense a wave of inviting warmth coming from it. He could hear James call out and some childrens’ voices excitedly yelling back in response - some of Albert’s nieces and nephews, no doubt.

Arthur retrieved the luggage from the lower steps and had just a brief moment alone with Albert before they stepped inside. “Ready?”

He looked as if he was biting back a scolding comment about Arthur’s innuendo, but Albert ultimately shook his head and went with, “Yes. After you,  _ cowboy.” _

“That is  _ not _ gonna be a thing,” Arthur warned, knowing full well he had already earned a new nickname for the remainder of this trip. He huffed as he carried the luggage inside and Albert closed the door to the cold behind them.

* * *

_ 5/14/08 _

_ Gonna need a new journal soon, though I don’t need to tell  _ _ you _ _ that. Still wish I had my earlier ones, but they got lost over the years with the gang. I don’t think I’d read back on them too often if I still had them, but it would be nice to be able to. Be nice to see how much I’ve changed since Dutch first shoved that empty book into my hands and told me to write until my head went quiet. _

_ And I  _ _ have _ _ changed. Took me a long time to come around to believing that, but I did, and I’m glad I’ve made it to this point. I’m really glad with where I’ve ended up. _

* * *

“There you go, you got it, Jack!”

John was positively beaming as he watched his son guide Old Boy in slow, easy figure-eights, all by himself. The boy, now technically a teenager - albeit barely - tried keeping his cool and not letting it get to his head, but smiled down at the saddle horn despite himself.

Arthur leaned towards his brother on his right and quietly asked, “Shouldn’t he be startin’ on something a little smaller?”

John responded, also keeping his voice down so Jack couldn’t hear, “He’s doing  _ fine. _ ‘Sides, it’s not like I’m putting him on The Count or Comet.”

At the mention of Albert’s horse, Arthur found himself scowling at nothing in particular. Unlike Penny, her replacement had been a veritable speed demon with a strange, dangerous glint in his eyes. Albert took to the all-black Kentucky Saddler for reasons that cannot be readily explained, but neither Arthur nor Ivy trusted that animal.

“Alright Jack, let’s get ready to leave. Remember how to dismount?”

“Think so,” Jack confirmed. It took some coaxing with the reins because he wasn’t using as much force as he needed to, but he was able to bring Old Boy to a stop before swinging a leg back behind him and landing with both feet hitting the ground at the same time.

“Good! Can you lead him to the front for me? Tie him back up to the wagon?”

“I’m not good with the knots yet,” he frowned.

“Give it a shot and I’ll look it over before we leave.” Seeing his son was unconvinced, John sweetened the deal. “If you do it, I’ll let you drive the horses on the way back.”

“Really?! Okay!” With renewed zeal, Jack tugged on Old Boy’s lead, now with too much force, and began walking back towards the front of the house. When he was out of sight, Arthur stood up from the crate he was seated on and John put out his hand.

“Help me up, will ya?”

Arthur frowned, but did so, and John gave him a tired look before he could say anything.

“Don’t worry about it, it just hurts sometimes. Some days more than others.”

“All I  _ do _ is worry about your dumb ass,” Arthur quipped. He tried playing it off like he didn’t notice John instinctively hold his left side, where Ross shot him. They both knew he caught it though.

“You sure look like it with all those lines in your face. You look ten years older than you are.”

“Keep talkin’ like that and this is as old as  _ you’ll _ ever get.”

John batted a hand at the empty threat, unbothered. But he took on a more serious, saddened demeanor when he rested a hand on his torso and continued. “It’s just acting up today and I hate when Jack sees me like this.”

It was rare that his brother spoke candidly like this, so Arthur felt compelled to drag it out. He casually set his hands on his hips and subtly blocked John’s path back to the front of the house.

“Wasn’t he there when it happened? I’m sure he understands.”

John stopped walking and glared at Arthur. “A son shouldn’t have to ‘understand’ that his father has trouble moving some days because he got  _ shot.” _

He knew that the anger wasn’t directed at him specifically, so Arthur ignored it. “That boy’s gonna be just fine. He’s not gonna have the life we had.”

“And I’m glad for it.” John nodded, seemed to relax a little and wet his lips before asking, “We’re gonna be okay now, right? No more surprises going forward?”

“Sure hope not. Why’re you askin’ me?”

“I dunno... Guess I’m just used to always looking up to someone, whether it was Dutch or Hosea or you.”

“Do I look like I have a clue what’s goin’ on with my life? I don’t know what I’m doin’  _ tomorrow _ yet.”

John shrugged, “I don’t know, I thought ‘Wisdom came with age’ or something like that? You’re older now than Dutch ever got to be.”

Now at forty-five years of age, that was technically true, though this was the first moment Arthur had realized that. Even in death, his mentor had loomed large in his mind the past few years but now technically - objectively - Arthur had more life experience than Dutch was afforded.

It was an unsettling thought.

“I don’t feel much wiser,” he deflected uncomfortably.

“Bet you Hosea’d say that’s a sign of wisdom in itself.” John slapped him on the arm as he walked past Arthur, signaling the end of the vulnerable stage of their talk.

“That’s on you for believin’ a single word that old crook ever said...”

They chuckled to themselves as they rounded the corner past the side entrance and on to the front of the house. Jack was still attempting to back Old Boy into the wagon’s harness, but was clearly having some difficulty. With Abigail’s prompting, John went over to assist. Arthur opted to stroll over to the front porch and bend down to scratch behind Lily’s ear as they both watched Abigail finish giving Albert a haircut.

“We can finally see your eyes again, Al!,” she teased with a smirk as she removed the cape from him. Albert tussled his hair to remove the lingering clippings trapped in it.

“Much obliged for that.” He rose and looked at Arthur. “How do I look?”

“Handsome.”

“You always say that,” he dismissed half-heartedly. He turned to Abigail and when he noticed her hands were still covered in his hair he offered, “Here, let me get you some water to wash off with.”

“Thanks, Al,” she said as he stepped past her and into the house. When they were alone, she caught Arthur’s gaze and motioned to the chair, “You want me to do you too while I’m here?”

Rising from a squat, he lazily lifted his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Nah, we can do it some other time. Maybe next weekend when we come over.”

“Fine by me.” She began wrapping the cape carefully around her comb and scissors when she casually mentioned, “You know, there’s a new feller that went into the old barber’s place in town. Not sure if his prices are fair or not, but…”

“I don’t think he’ll ever set foot in that building again.” Abigail huffed and nodded.

“Can’t say I blame him.” She watched her husband in the distance demonstrate the necessary knots to Jack before undoing them and letting the teen try. “You ever think back on that time, Arthur?”

“I try not to.”

“Me neither. But it’s done. Milton’s dead and we’re safer for it.” Arthur shifted his weight, clearly working up to say something, but Abigail cut him off before he could get it out. “And I know how you feel about how that went down, but you did nothing wrong, that was all on me. And if that makes me a bad person, then I must be  _ real _ bad... ‘cause I felt  _ good _ doing it.”

There was a severe look in Abigail’s eyes that Arthur had rarely seen and had never been on the direct receiving end of. It made him more uncomfortable than he expected.

“Sadie shoulda taken  _ you _ with her to take out Colm, my god…” He shuffled off the post he was leaning against to grab the broom resting against the side of the house. Anything to get out from under her gaze.

She laughed and fell back into her normal easy-going state. “Wouldn’t that be something. Who knows? Maybe if I never had Jack I woulda ended up being one of the regular guns with the rest of you boys. Go out on jobs robbing folk. I always was a good thief.”

“That you were... Is that what you wanted though? Or want now? Guess it’s never too late to start.” He quickly swept the remnants of the hair trimmings off the porch and into the grass. He turned to see Abigail looking at her family over by the wagon as Lily trotted over to say her own goodbyes.

“No, not really. I’m happy where we ended up, even if we went through hell to get to this point.”

Arthur smiled at her. “Me too.”

* * *

Albert appeared shortly afterwards with a small pail of water from inside the house - apparently the well pump was acting up again which is why he took so long - but Abigail didn’t mind. The ride wasn’t long, but the Marstons didn’t want to set out too late in the afternoon and risk getting caught in the dark on their way back. They thanked Arthur and Albert for hosting them for lunch and set out with a chorus of shared waves and goodbyes. They were barely off the property when Jack asked to use the reins.

The two men waited a bit before calling Lily back and retreating into the house just as the shadows began to noticeably lengthen and the sun threatened to plummet into another brilliant sunset. Albert immediately descended into the basement with some unspoken purpose set in his mind and Arthur left him to it.

Not having any pressing matters of his own, Arthur entered the bedroom and flicked the switch on the wall next to the doorway, triggering the new fan on the ceiling to begin rotating. He still didn’t fully understand how it all worked; all he knew was that every so often Albert would get a letter in the mail with an amount of money they had to pay, and the more electricity they used, the bigger that number was. Arthur didn’t know that  _ all _ technology was a good thing, but he was certain that this was one thing the engineers in the big cities had gotten right.

He set his hat on the hook on the wall and laid down on the bed, enjoying the cooling air of the fan as he eyed the walls of the room. It was littered with little pieces of their life; his father’s hat resting on a hook next to Albert’s straw boater - that really should be retired, it was barely holding together at this point. The old map Arthur used to hang on the side of his tent during his days in the gang. A framed sketch of the two of them he had gifted Albert during one of their fishing trips next to the Lannahechee years ago. One of Penny’s old horseshoes mounted above the door. Each item having its own story; some good, some painful, but still  _ theirs. _

Not knowing why he was growing into a sentimental mood, Arthur instead rolled into a more comfortable position and closed his eyes. He wasn’t planning on falling asleep, but there was time for a short rest before having to get dinner ready.

“Arthur, can you come in here for a moment?”

Arthur opened his eyes. Begrudgingly he ran a hand over his face and called out to the kitchen.

“Right now?”

“It won’t take that long.”

He allowed himself three more seconds of the cooling air before peeling himself off the comfortable bed and back up onto his feet. The large white circle and arrows chalked onto the wall around the switch were a touch excessive, but Arthur still dutifully flicked the switch off before he left the room. He didn’t want to have  _ that _ argument ever again.

The scene he found in the large shared living space of their home was unusual, but it explained all the strange sounds he’d been hearing since they got back inside. Albert had seemingly arranged one of his cameras on a tripod and had it aimed directly at a mirror propped up on the kitchen table. He looked back at Arthur expectantly.

“What’s this?”

“This is umm… An idea I’ve had in the back of my mind for some time now, but I’ve finally decided to just do it once and for all.”

Arthur approached and quickly sussed himself out in the mirror that still had small streaks of water on it, signalling that Albert had just cleaned it. He was quietly pleased to note that there weren’t any significant lines or wrinkles in his face like John had teased barely an hour earlier.

“I don’t think takin’ a picture of a mirror is gonna work out like you think is.”

Albert rolled his eyes and explained, “I’m not taking a picture of the mirror, I want to take a picture of the reflection  _ in _ it.”

“Reflection of what?”

Albert gestured at the space between them. “Us. You and me.”

A pause.

“Why?”

Albert slumped his shoulders and tried to find his words. “Because... it’s something we’ve never done before. Sure, I sneak photos of you behind your back from time to time, but I can count on one hand the number of times  _ I’ve _ been in front of the camera. And in all the time we’ve been together, we’ve never once appeared in a photograph together.”

Arthur looked back into the mirror as he took in the words. “Why didn’t you ask Abigail when they were just here?”

“Truth be told, I don’t trust  _ anyone _ else with my equipment, but I also thought that this would be… I don’t know, more  _ intimate _ I suppose? Stand here.”

Albert pointed at a spot and the ground and manhandled Arthur into position with a firm hand on the chest. The command and gesture was vaguely reminiscent of their very first encounter, what felt like a lifetime ago, but Arthur held his tongue and did what he was told.

“Ready?”

“What do I do?”

“You pose.”

“But how?”

Albert huffed in disbelief but noticed something on the camera that apparently needed his attention, prompting him to bend down towards it. “Just act naturally. Think of how you’d like to remember yourself and me when we look back on this years from now. Pretend like you like me if you need to.”

Arthur watched him for a beat before saying, “You just want to show off your haircut.”

“So what if I do?” Albert finally stopped fidgeting with the dials on the camera and stood upright and proud, holding the shutter apparatus in a hand he held out of view of the reflection. “Ready?”

Deciding to take the moment a touch more seriously, Arthur threw an arm over his husband’s shoulders and pulled him in tight before feeling an arm cross over his own back in response. They smiled at each other through the mirror, both feeling incredibly silly over what they were doing.

“Ready.”

A short countdown, a quick squeeze and a quiet  _ click _ later and the deed was done. They relaxed their postures and Albert ran a final check on his camera to ensure that there weren’t any issues.

“You’re not planning on puttin’ that one up for the next showing, are you?”

“No,” Albert explained as he slid a cap over the front lens of the camera. “This one’s just for us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d made several references to Penny being an older horse past-her-prime throughout this work, to the point where I almost felt like I _had_ to write that scene. But in truth, it was something else; a few years back my then-fiance and I had to put down one of our dogs, who was his pet that he had since before we were together. It was the first time I had to do something like that as an adult and it would’ve been so much harder for either of us to go through it alone. That scene here when Penny is being taken away (and let’s be honest - Albert would absolutely donate her body to science) was hard to write because it drew on a personal experience, but not every aspect of a long-term relationship is going to be perfect and fun. I think the fact that it felt genuine (at least to me) helped me prepare myself to say goodbye to this work as a whole in a strange way.
> 
> Originally I had a few more random vignettes of tornado-chasing shenanigans, but it would’ve been way too long and I promised myself I wasn’t going to keep tacking chapters onto this work. But you bet your ass Sadie became a suffragette purely because she wanted to cold-clock bigots.
> 
> Arthur to James: I’ve been banging your little brother for years, haha  
> Albert, exasperated: We literally _just_ got here.
> 
> Also it is imperative that you imagine James Mason with the absolute thickest, most comical Brooklyn accent you can imagine. And please know that Albert’s own accent comes back in full force after spending a few days with his family to the point Arthur fails to recognize him.
> 
> For those of you who have been reading the chapter notes throughout this work, you’ll know that I sold a home in the process of writing this work (literally just had the closing today, so glad that’s over with!). Originally I was intending to have the absolute final scene be one where Arthur and Albert end up very old and having to move out of the house because they’re unable to take care of themselves anymore. It was going to be an extremely bittersweet scene where they went room to room, reliving all the memories they made in that house one last time. Having just had to do that myself in real life a few days ago, that would have been… what’s the opposite of therapeutic? ‘Traumatizing’? I just did not have it in me to relive that. Instead, I found inspiration elsewhere:
> 
> Also while writing this fic, there was a book released late last summer called [“Loving: A Photographic History of Men in Love 1850s - 1950s”.](https://www.fivecontinentseditions.com/en/p/loving/) The book depicts antique photographs of men that were presumed to be romantically involved. One such photograph in the book shows [two men posing for a camera set up in front of a mirror](https://64.media.tumblr.com/04c5c5de26a664de2c2f8e702d3428b4/875951cba056e170-24/s1280x1920/940fe471e3e90bd1eeff515f0684247d3a196188.jpg) and once I saw that, the scene basically wrote itself in my head.
> 
> As I mentioned at the top, this is the final chapter of actual content for this work; the chapter that will appear after this one will just be me talking about the work from my perspective rather than a continuation of it. But if you’ve made it this far after following this work in its entirety (and that was a lot of content to get to this point), I’d like to thank you immensely from the bottom of my heart. I never expected anyone to read this story, let alone enjoy it as so many of you have told me you have, and that still just blows my mind.
> 
> Now let’s get this Kickstarter started where Rockstar hires me to write a thirty-hour Arcadia for Amateurs DLC based off of this AU.


	28. Entries and Final Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Below is a collection of all of Arthur's journal entries and dated letters and newspaper articles that appeared in this work and under that I included a calendar of the three in-fiction months that this story took place over. At the very bottom are my personal reflections on writing this work.

_8/19/04_

_[A two-page sketch of a busy city street with dozens of faceless figures and horses hemmed in by buildings and signs on both sides of the drawing. Caption reads, “Denver, CO”]_

* * *

_8/25/04_

_[Sketch of Lily splayed out on the living room floor, asleep.]_

* * *

_8/26/04_

_John came over yesterday and dropped a bombshell on me. Said Pinkertons had kidnapped Jack and he only had two months to round up the rest of the boys from the gang that are still alive. After talking it out like gentlemen, he agreed to go north to find Charles, and I would go west to find Javier._

_I hate to drag Albert into this mess. I foolishly thought I had put that life behind me. Hopefully we can find a way to fix this without him finding out. I do not want him to think of me as the bad man I clearly still am._

* * *

_8/27/04_

_Albert got shot._

_He’ll live, but it’s still my fault. I picked a spot for camp too close to the road and some young crooks tried robbing us. We managed to scare them off with the help of a woman named Bonnie MacFarlane, but I was forced to kill one of them._

_He was young, and angry. Reminded me of myself when I was his age. I have not taken a life since I was in the gang, and it is weighing on me something fierce._

_The way Albert screamed made me wish I could’ve taken two bullets to spare him the one. It is a wonder that he stays at my side at all some days._

_Also, Bill is alive. Lives with the doctor that saved his life and Albert’s. Seems we all owe that man a drink._

* * *

_8/29/04_

_I buried Eddie tonight. Maybe he’ll leave me alone now._

_[Sketch of a simple gravesite at the base of a tree.]_

* * *

_9/6/04_

_[Multiple words were written and scratched out, indicating three failed attempts to begin a sentence. Instead, there is a sketch of a vulture on top of a church with its wings spread wide. There is no caption.]_

* * *

_9/7/04_

_Going to Thieves’ Landing tomorrow. I have no idea what to expect or if anyone will even show up, but we have to try_ _something._ _Hopefully John at least figured out where Jack is. Poor kid. Poor Abigail!_

_Albert finally figured out my ruse and why I made us leave the house. I told him everything and he got mad, even madder than after the cougar fight, but he still forgave me. For some reason I continue to be the luckiest man alive._

_[Sketch of Albert at his tripod, left arm in a sling, and looking through the camera lens.]_

* * *

_9/10/04_

_The meeting was a mess. I forgot there was bad blood between Charles and Bill. Javier didn’t trust Albert being there, Bill and Javier started yelling at each other, then they both ganged up on Marston. I couldn’t get a word in, then Bill damn near died in front of us. Everyone ran off after that._

_Albert thinks he’s got a plan, wants to meet the Pinkertons face-to-face to get more information. I don’t like it, but I can’t think of anything else so we’re going back to Saint Denis. I can barely contain my excitement._

_Also dropped in on an old “friend,” but he wasn’t home. Not sure what to make of that._

_[The following two pages depict a sketch of the interior of a dilapidated building. There are some broken benches on the sides, but nothing in the middle aisle. There is no caption except for a lone question mark in some negative space.]_

* * *

_9/14/04_

_[Sketch of Albert standing at the water’s edge, fishing rod in hand. Caption reads “Showoff”.]_

* * *

_9/17/04_

_[Sketch of Ivy and Penny, hitched in front of a building.]_

* * *

_9/18/04_

_Javier’s tip paid off._

_That’s all I have to say about that._

* * *

_9/20/04_

_Ran into Sadie yesterday in Valentine. Wish we could’ve chatted longer and about something nicer, but at least she promised to stop John from doing something stupid. Also her tip paid off. I’m starting to doubt Milton was even looking for this guy, otherwise he’d be behind bars already. Or maybe I’m just that good. Maybe I should’ve been a detective._

_Think we’re headed south again tomorrow by the Downes’ Ranch. I am more than ready to put this wild goose chase behind us._

_[Sketch of Albert sitting cross-legged at a campfire with a tent behind him.]_

* * *

_9/21/04_

_I may not have always been a good man. And I may have done some bad things in my life. Lord knows I have._

_But at least I was never_ _evil_ _. Not like what I saw today. _

* * *

_8/24/1904_

_Dear Mr. Morgan,_

_It is commonly known that the infamous Van de Linde gang, of which you were a member of, disbanded in the summer of 1899 when your leader died. However there are many crimes committed by various surviving members of the gang that have to date gone unpunished. I am offering you an opportunity to cooperate with my agency, and in return I can offer you clemency and potentially even an expunged criminal record depending on your performance._

_I ask that you apprehend the following five members and deliver them directly to my custody: Marion ‘Bill’ Williamson, Javier Escuela, Charles Smith, Micah Bell, and John Marston. I have retained a powerful new client who is bankrolling this new operation to seek out the remnants of your gang, but I believe we can help each other. Please respond to the address below and we will coordinate a time and date for the exchanges of the above-mentioned names._

_Sincerely, Agent Andrew Milton_ _  
_ _204 Decatur Street_ _  
_ _Saint Denis, LM 70130_

_Pinkerton National Detective Agency_

_“We Never Sleep”_

* * *

_9/22/04_

_[Sketch of Albert asleep, leaning against a window inside of a train, hat tilted askew.]_

* * *

_9/24/1904_

_-Meet with Milton_

_-Buy a lantern_

* * *

_9/26/04_

_At least I can still use my hands to write after everything I went through._

_Got Bill back to_ _Doctor_ _Nate in one piece, even if he had one foot in the grave by the time we got back to Saint Denis. Also saved_ _Miss Grimshaw_ _of all people. Seems more and more folk keep getting dragged into this mess Milton’s made._

_I hope Albert does not become one of them._

_[Half-finished sketch of a pond in a wooded area.]_

* * *

_10/2/04_

_Haven’t been writing much lately. Things just don’t seem to slow down. Bill is safe, Albert is safe, even Jack is safe and back with his family, but things don’t feel_ _safer._ _It all feels temporary, like it can all be taken away in the blink of an eye again._

_Albert’s come up with a new plan to fool Milton into thinking the boys are all turning on each other. I don’t know if it’ll work, but I also don’t think putting a bullet in Milton’s skull is the right answer either._

_I’m just tired._

* * *

_BATTLE IN THE BAYOU_

_October 4th, 1904_

_Eyewitnesses in the secluded town of Lagras have confirmed with our reporters that a violent shootout had taken place on Saturday, October 1st. The two antagonists that brought chaos to the sleepy swamp town were believed to be former members of the inglorious Van der Linde gang: Javier Escuella and Marion “Bill” Williamson. What triggered the gunfight is a matter of some dispute, but what is known is that for a brief few minutes on that peaceful morning, the town resembled a warzone._

_Fortunately, the only casualty appeared to be Mr. Williamson, who was shot and then devoured by an alligator after being unceremoniously dumped into the water. A visiting historian who was only armed with a camera was generous enough to provide the Saint Denis Times with the accompanying images of the event._

_The current whereabouts of Javier Escuella or any of the surviving Van der Linde gang members are unknown, but citizens are encouraged to avoid the dangerous individuals at all costs and provide local authorities with any relevant information._

_[The article is accompanied by two images; one of two men firing at each other with pistols from a distance, the other of a hat floating in swampwater with an alligator lurking nearby.]_

* * *

_SCARLET MEADOW SCUFFLE_

_October 7th, 1904_

_Violence in the form of a gunfight was visited upon the quiet town of Rhodes, Lemoyne, again at the hands of surviving members of the Van der Linde gang. The two men in question this time were one Javier Escuella and one Charles Smith. Informed readers will recognize that this Mister Escuella was the very same that was involved in the Lagras incident earlier this week._

_Eyewitnesses attest that the two men identified each other on Rhodes’ main thoroughfare before firing on one another with a callous disregard for any innocents that may have gotten caught in the crossfire. Before the sheriff and his deputies could mount a resistance, the two criminals mounted on horseback and fled south, continuing their fight along the way._

_An amateur photographer who wished to remain anonymous for his own safety claimed that the two men came close to him at the Bolder Glade battleground. During their fight, it appears Mister Escuella stepped on an unexploded ordnance left over from the War and met with a destructive end that left identifying the body an impossible task. Fortunately, aside from some minor property damage, it does not appear that there were any casualties aside from Mister Escuella._

_Again, local authorities are urging citizens to share any information on the whereabouts of the Van der Linde gang while maintaining a safe distance from them. Additionally, citizens are warned to avoid the historic Bolder Glade battleground for their own safety._

_[The article is accompanied by two images; one of two men firing at each other on a foggy and abandoned battlefield, the other of a jet of debris shooting up into the sky.]_

* * *

_BRAWL OVER BARD’S CROSSING_

_October 9th, 1904_

_Regular readers of this paper will unfortunately be aware of the resurgence of violence at the hands of the disbanded Van der Linde gang. It seems the surviving members are intent on only forcing terrible ends on each other however. The following incident appears to be the latest such example._

_Eyewitnesses aboard a westbound train from Saint Denis to San Francisco stated that an Arthur Morgan boarded the train at Flatneck Station and openly identified Charles Smith, the man who initiated a shootout in Rhodes on Wednesday, October 5th. The two men immediately engaged in fisticuffs after two shots were fired harmlessly into the ceiling. Somehow the fight ended up on top of the moving car, and several passengers attested to seeing Mister Smith thrown over the side when the train was at the midpoint of the Bard’s Crossing bridge. When the train slowed and the crew was able to conduct a thorough search of the cars, Arthur Morgan was not found. Likewise, no body was recovered at the mouth of the mighty Dakota River. A passenger who was taking a portrait of his wife took and provided the accompanying photographs._

_As mentioned in previous stories, local authorities are urging citizens to share any information on the whereabouts of the Van der Linde gang while maintaining a safe distance from them._

_[The article is accompanied by two images; one of a man holding a gun being pinned against the wall by another man, the other of a motion-blurred body falling over the side of a bridge.]_

* * *

_10/8/04_

_I’m losing him._

_Albert is_ _obsessed_ _with this plan to trick Milton. He’s quiet all the time now and acts strange whenever someone mentions Milton. He doesn’t hear me talking half the time I’m saying something to him, too wrapped up in his own head. I’m beginning to think that something else happened between them in Blackwater, but he won’t talk to me._

 _He’s reminding me of how Dutch sounded at the end. I’m_ _not_ _gonna let him go down the same path._

_[The bottom of the page has a sketch that was abandoned and scribbled over before it was finished.]_

* * *

_STRAWBERRY SHOOTOUT_

_10/11/1904_

_In what has become an unfortunately regular affair as of late, the last remnants of the Van der Linde gang have continued to mete out violence upon one another with reckless disregard for innocent bystanders. The perpetrators of this particular incident were identified by eyewitnesses to be one Arthur Morgan and one John Marston, both of whom were previously presumed to be dead before this year._

_First-hand accounts claim that the two men encountered each other inside the General Store in Strawberry, WE, whereupon they immediately accused the other of betraying their former gang. Gunshots opened fire soon afterwards, and before the shopowner could return fire and fell the outlaws, the fight had traversed outdoors into the main street. A traveling portrait photographer who was operating outside a nearby hotel provided the accompanying images. Inhabitants of the town were instantly reminded of the infamous Strawberry Massacre of 1899, also perpetrated by the Van der Linde gang, and fled indoors, limiting the number of reliable accounts._

_Before the local sheriff’s department could enforce order, the pair fled south out of town, continuing to fire on each other until a devastating explosion was heard. Based upon the few available testimonies, local authorities believe Mister Morgan attempted to lure Mister Marston below a cliff edge that was primed with dynamite, but only succeeded in crushing himself in the resulting rockslide. Initial attempts to dislodge the boulders to find and identify any bodies caught within them have been unsuccessful._

_As mentioned in previous stories, local authorities are urging citizens to share any information on the whereabouts of the Van der Linde gang while maintaining a safe distance from them._

_[The article is accompanied by two images; one of two men taking cover and firing at each other in front of a storefront, the other of a massive cliff face with several carriage-sized boulders at the foot of the slope.]_

* * *

_10/12/04_

_And now we wait._

_[Sketch of Ivy and Old Boy, grazing side-by-side in profile.]_

* * *

_10/16/04_

_Milton’s dead. Ross too. Turns out they’re not even Pinkertons anymore, so hopefully no one will care if they go missing._

_Abigail and Jack are safe_ _finally_ _, but John got shot pretty bad. He’s barely hanging on - we’re all waiting to see if he pulls through. Not looking good right now. Just hope he comes to before Bonnie’s patience with the lot of us finally runs out._

* * *

_10/17/04_

_[Sketch of the main house of the MacFarlane Ranch.]_

* * *

_10/17/04_

_John’s still not up._

* * *

_10/18/04_

_[Sketch of John tucked in a bed, expression undefined and unreadable. Caption simply reads, “John Marston.”]_

* * *

_1/7/05_

_Just when you think you know someone…_

_[Sketch of Albert in profile, holding and aiming a repeater to the left.]_

* * *

_4/29/05_

_Miss Bonnie’s got an excellent memory, to my dismay. I suppose that’s what I get for making big promises. At least Albert’s getting along with her boys._

_[Sketch of Albert and other men working on a wooden frame.]_

* * *

_8/2/05_

_Finally wrangled everyone together this year to visit Dutch and Hosea. Even managed to rope some of them back to the house. It was nice seeing everyone in one place again._

_[Sketch of a bar with multiple featureless figures huddled around it.]_

* * *

_9/21/05_

_Heading northwest again for the first time in a long time. Maybe the last time, who knows. You’d think I’d be an expert at saying goodbyes by now, but it never gets easier._

* * *

_10/23/06_

_Miss her already._

_[Sketch of Penny grazing in profile.]_

* * *

_8/1/07_

_Had another gallery showing in Saint Denis, this time for all those storm pictures instead of the animals for once. Folk seemed to like them, but I’m worried that it’s just going to spur Albert into chasing more of these tornadoes. At least the storm season has mostly passed._

_[Sketch of a framed picture of a tornado resting on an easel.]_

* * *

_12/4/07_

_Now I have truly lost my mind._

_[Sketch of a crowned woman raising a torch in one hand and holding a book in the other.]_

* * *

_5/14/08_

_Gonna need a new journal soon, though I don’t need to tell_ _you_ _that. Still wish I had my earlier ones, but they got lost over the years with the gang. I don’t think I’d read back on them too often if I still had them, but it would be nice to be able to. Be nice to see how much I’ve changed since Dutch first shoved that empty book into my hands and told me to write until my head went quiet._

 _And I_ _have_ _changed. Took me a long time to come around to believing that, but I did, and I’m glad I’ve made it to this point. I’m really glad with where I’ve ended up._

* * *

__

* * *

**Final Thoughts**

It feels _so_ good to finally see that “completed” green check mark next to this work.

This has been one hell of an experience, and I’m already pre-emptively bracing myself for the post-completion “mourning” period that I hear some writers experience when completing a massive work that has occupied their minds for literal months or even years. I didn’t really go through that with Summer of ‘99 because I gave myself maybe a week and a half before immediately coming up with an outline for this second work, which is really just a continuation of that first story and I personally kinda lump them together in my head. That said, I think it’s time to truly put this work aside and be content with it being completed; there’s not going to be a “Winter of ‘08”, and if that does come up in the feed, I’m going to need one of you to come over and bop me on the head before I go ruining a good thing.

That isn’t to say I intend to stop writing altogether, but I think it’s important to treat myself to a well-earned break and reflect on what I _have_ written to date. I can recognize that there’s still a lot to left for me to learn, not only in general, but more specifically by what I would have done different were I to jump back in time and re-write this again from scratch:

  1. Pick a different pairing based solely off of their names. You have no idea how many fucking times I typed “Albert” when I meant to type “Arthur” and vice versa. And even their last names were too similar; I bet that stuff never happens to people who write literally 99% of other pairings.
  2. I would have had a lot more of it pre-written. It’s true that the narrative was mostly completed in my head relatively early on, but at times I felt guilty or obligated to get a chapter out if it had been too long since the last update. And if you read the notes at the beginning of some chapters, you’ll know that I simultaneously bought and sold two different houses during the course of this work, which is literally one of the most stressful things you can do, let alone during a pandemic. Unfortunately, writing wasn’t a stress-relieving activity during that time, so much as it was yet another thing that felt like it was hanging over my head, to say nothing of the dozen other hobbies I apparently picked up over the past year. (Still don’t know how the hell I managed to crank out two chapters _a week_ for Summer of ‘99…)
  3. I wish I’d introduced the barber, Henry Wilton, earlier, even if it was just once or even just a passing mention. This seems like a minor thing, but it obviously weighed on my mind heavily enough to warrant appearing so high up on this list. I just feel like his betrayal and the reveal that he was working with Milton would’ve landed better if the audience had already ’met’ him as a benign and seemingly harmless background character in like the first two chapters.
  4. It wasn’t until fairly late in this work when I re-read some of the earlier chapters that I felt like I wasn’t handling Arthur properly. My goal going into this work was to portray him as someone who was trying to put his violent past behind him, but still had the skills to defend himself and others if it came down to it. Instead, he just kind of came off as clueless all the time; I know he carried most of the perspective in this work so he’s kind of the proxy for the reader, but the phrase “..., Arthur asked.” shows up almost **forty times** in this work. Poor guy didn’t know what the hell was going on half the time and rather than give him the opportunity to try piecing it together for himself, I just always had someone else nearby conveniently explain it to him. Events just kind of happened _to_ him, not because of him.
  5. Related to the previous point, I wonder if I gave Albert _too_ much agency, at Arthur’s expense. One of the reasons why I started writing for this pairing specifically was that I was tired of seeing Albert in the role of damsel-in-distress all of the time; I felt like there was a more interesting character there and I wanted to see what he was capable of when pushed out of his comfort zone enough times that he was forced to adapt. Problem was, he ended up almost single-handedly pushing the plot along: Albert was the one who came up with the plan to meet with Milton directly to try and get information, it was his plan to undercut Milton’s funding by finding the serial killer first, he ended up being the one to actually rescue Jack, it was his plan to stage everyone but John’s deaths to undercut Milton’s support, and he was the one who effectively disarmed Milton in that final encounter. Meanwhile, what did Arthur do? He shot a Mercer Boy point blank in the face, felt really guilty about it, found Bill and Javier purely by accident, failed to get anything coherent out of the Thieves’ Landing meeting, got beaten up by Ross and his volunteers before needing Charles and Sadie to rescue him, and failed to subdue Milton in the non-violent manner he was hoping for. Maybe I’m being a little selective here, but when it’s worded like this, it sure looks like Albert did everything he set out to do and Arthur, frankly, did not.
  6. In retrospect, I probably should have drawn out their disagreements a little longer to make it feel more realistic. The two overall themes we ended up with were A) can people actually change? and B) “What happens when the secrets we keep from our significant others are finally revealed?” Arthur keeping his history about Eliza and Isaac a secret? That’s sad, but understandable, not really worth having a fight over. Arthur tricking Albert into going out into the desert to look for a friend from his criminal past because he thinks Pinkertons know where they live, and not telling Albert about any of this? Arthur tricking Albert into taking a trip that results in Albert _literally getting shot?_ Inexcusable; I would have been furious in Albert’s situation and certainly wouldn’t have made up as quickly as I wrote them doing. But the most egregious offense would probably be Albert admitting he made a $5,000 donation (again, that was almost half of all their money and equivalent to $144k in today’s money) without telling Arthur? I would _throttle_ my husband if he told me that, right after I recovered from my heart attack, that is. I know I’ve written Arthur as more laid-back and less gruff/brusque compared to some other fics on here, but I now believe that scene warranted a more heated reaction out of him and I probably could have dragged out that conflict a little more.
  7. This is more of a technical complaint, but I’m definitely guilty of falling into the “characters are not their eyes,” trap that beginner writers fall into. There are more varied ways to describe a character’s emotions through their body language beyond just describing where their eyes are focused on and what they’re doing, but I just could not break that habit. Thing is, I _knew_ I was doing it too, but couldn’t stop. For damn near any given scene you know where every single character is looking for every single moment, and that’s just not necessary; I need to get better with that.
  8. I straight-up forgot cigarettes existed. I wasn’t trying to make an anti-smoking statement or anything, it just wasn’t until I was halfway through this second work that I realized I had never mentioned anyone - including the characters that we know and see in-game canonically smoking - ever lighting one up. There were plenty of scenes where a character would be fiddling uncomfortably and probably would’ve lit one up if they had the chance, but I figured I’d gotten this far in this strange tobacco-less AU I’d accidentally created, I might as well stick with it.
  9. I don’t know how, but I wish I would have made this shorter. The more I read other people's writing, the more impressed I am with works that sit comfortably in the 70k-90k range. There’s something appealing in telling a concise story that doesn’t overstay its welcome or take too long to get there. There’s an appeal for longer pieces like this, sure, but it’s moreso the fact that I don’t think I _can_ write a good story in fewer words, but that’s something I’d like to improve on in the future. If I had to excise something from this story, I might've taken out the whole sub-arc dealing with the serial killer because that really didn't have much to do with the main conflict at all.
  10. Having a literal in-fiction, day-by-day calendar I had to keep on top of was a cute novelty that wore off about four chapters in. Whenever I see other people’s works where they’re not married to a hard time frame and can just freely skip multiple days forward without mentally trying to juggle where A) all of their characters are and B) what they were doing and C) would it make sense for them to travel from point A to point B in that amount of time, I just sigh and think, “wish I could’ve done that…”
  11. Speaking of dates… The Autumnal Equinox (first day of fall) in 1904 was September 23rd. In-fiction, that was the day Arthur met Doctor Nate in the gun shop in Saint Denis while Albert was outside simultaneously speaking with Milton. That was Chapter 14 of 27. Literally half of this work that is titled “Autumn of ‘04” doesn’t even take place in that season. Again, wish I’d had most of this work pre-written before I started publishing so maybe I would’ve caught something like that and played around with the dates a bit, haha
  12. Originally I was going to have Marshal Davies play a bigger role in dealing with the Mercer Boys and/or the whole serial killer subplot, but ultimately decided against it because this cast was big enough as it is. I really would’ve liked to squeeze in a cameo of him or Jessica LeClerk or Madam Nazar, but I couldn’t figure out a way to do it without it seeming ham-fisted. If you don’t know any of these characters, do yourself a favor and look up some cutscenes from the Red Dead Online campaign; there are some awesome NPC characters that show up there that don’t appear in the single-player campaign.



That’s a long list and comes off like I’m super-critical of myself, and maybe I am, but that isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy writing this. In fact, I’ll just rattle off a quick list of my own personal favorite scenes in order of appearance:

  1. (Chapter 2) John explaining the list of five names/him and Arthur beating the shit out of each other: I think that scene was a good kick-off to the main conflict after a benign first chapter where nothing bad really happened. The immediate mystery of what happened to Bill and Javier and why Micah’s name was on the list as well as the instant tension that came with Arthur’s name was on it set a good tone right off the bat. I’m also a perpetual sucker for the trope of two characters fist-fighting one minute then acting like best friends the next.
  2. (Chapter 3) Doctor Nate’s introduction: While “Nathanial Johnston” technically exists in the source material, I clearly took a ton of liberties with fleshing him out and he was essentially an OC in this work. I still enjoyed that first scene when he’s trying to remove the bullet from Albert’s shoulder; it was just manic and had some big _It’s Always Sunny_ energy. Ending that scene and that chapter with Bill walking in and Nate shoving a gun in Arthur’s face was just the cherry on top.
  3. (Chapter 10) Return to Fort Riggs: It was a super short scene, but one that I had floating in my mind before I even started writing the first chapter. Going back to that building and finding out that Micah’s body wasn’t there anymore was something I was really looking forward to dropping on the reader out of left field.
  4. (Chapter 11) Pretty much the entirety of Albert’s first meeting with Milton: Agent Milton is such a cool antagonist and it’s always neat when he’s portrayed as a calculating, capable threat. I think I portrayed that aspect of him in that first meeting, and I hope that whole scene felt like a “Albert got out alive by the skin of his teeth” conversation, telling just the right lies to escape. Of course, Milton ended up following his suspicions and we see how that turned out, but I still enjoyed writing that chapter a lot.
  5. (Chapter 14) The gun shop scene in Saint Denis: That was the first time I ever attempted jumping back and forth between two different points-of-view within the same scene without proper page breaks. It was hard trying to find the balance between Arthur’s conversation with Nate and Albert’s conversation with Milton that were happening simultaneously, but I was pleased with the final result.
  6. (Chapter 16) Albert being captured by Milton: The big twist that Jack was being held in Blackwater this whole time, that he was never that far from home at all and that Albert was the one who ended up finding him was probably the single scene I thought about the most before I even wrote the first word of this fic. Posting that chapter ending on that cliffhanger was probably the most rewarding update from a personal perspective.
  7. (Chapter 19) Bill reunites with Nate in the Hotel Grand: This one’s a little out there, but bear with me. One of my biggest pet peeves when reading m/m fiction is when the main characters are literally the only queer people in the entire story. That’s so far removed from my own personal experience, and even in a historical setting like this I don’t think it would hold up. Just as “we have always been here” is a concept that is mentioned a lot, “we have always found each other” is just as important in my opinion. I felt it was necessary to introduce other characters that were shown to have similar struggles and challenges as Arthur and Albert did, vis-a-vis societal expectations. It just so happened that Bill and a throwaway NPC from RDR1 with like three unique lines of dialogue ended up being the ones to fit that role, but I genuinely believe there is value in seeing that you are not the only one who lives the way you do. I mean, isn’t that the whole point of wanting to see representation in media? Plus, I just like Bill as a character, or at least my _heavily_ sanitized and rehabilitated version of him we got here here.
  8. (Chapter 22) Albert’s “I have a plan” speech: This was such a last-minute idea, and I’m glad I got hit with that random bolt of inspiration. I’d wanted to show Albert becoming obsessed with his plan and the idea of outsmarting Milton to the point where he couldn’t even consider any other possible outcome. But the idea to have him use that exact wording and unintentionally mimic Dutch (who he never even met) was too good to pass up.
  9. (Chapter 23) Arthur’s conversation with Agent Fordham in Strawberry: Fordham was another character I took a lot of liberties with changing his personality from the source material. I aged him down a bit and gave him a “I’m just doing my job” kind of mindset, which was supplemented with a healthy dose of “I’m not paid enough for this bullshit” when he spoke to Arthur in this chapter.
  10. (Chapter 24) Albert using DeadEye on Milton: This was another silly “what if” idea I had floating around before starting to lay out this work, but the more I thought about it, the more it kinda made sense. Why wouldn’t a photographer, a profession that demands perfectly timed photos, not develop a skill that helped them achieve that in a universe where we know that skill already exists? Building it up as a big reveal at a crucial moment like that was fun, especially after sowing small seeds of foreshadowing in the chapters just before it.



Was it a good piece of fiction? I hope so. It’s not perfect, but I’m still damned proud of banging out what basically amounted to two full-length books in less than a year with literally no prior experience in fiction writing. I'm specifically pleased with the pacing/layout of this story and my ability to write compelling and entertaining dialogue between characters. I think my biggest room for improvement lies in my prose; I can set up a scene in literal, physical descriptions, but it can almost come out dry or technical at some points. I also can't write a good metaphor to save my life, but I'm working on that: I have this big running document where whenever I come across a line that makes me go, "holy shit, that's a good line" in someone else's work, I copy it and highlight the specific parts I liked. Not to plagiarize for myself later, but more so to train myself to think in that kind of mindset. I also want to have more coherent themes going forward; to me _Autumn_ felt like an action story first that had a theme weakly tacked on after the fact.

As for what comes next, besides a break, I already have a few ideas floating around. This may seem completely out of left field, but I think I wanna take a stab at writing horror, no pun intended. Not in the slasher/serial killer vein but more in the supernatural/unexplainable event kind of story. I love a good, "I don't understand what I saw" story and ever since Halloween I’ve been on a big cryptid/ghost story/creepypasta podcast binge that gave me a bunch of spoopy ideas. I may try publishing something on here under the “Original Work” tag, but if it absolutely flops I can always swap out character and setting names and just slap it in any fandom with an “AU” tag, haha. I invite you to subscribe to [my AO3 account directly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LanderAvenue/profile) in case I don't post anything in the Red Dead fandom specifically again, and you can also reach me on [tumblr](https://mikerickson.tumblr.com/) (I don't post much fandom-related stuff, but I'm always willing to nerd out over private messaging).

Again, thank you so much for lending me your time and support for so long and I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.


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